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‘ ‘ So they marched away to the tune of ‘ The Girl 1 Left Behind Me' " 




HEIMWEH 


THE SIREN ^ * THE 

LOADED GUN<{^^^LIE- 
BEREICH ^ “lUPITER 
TONANS ” “ SIS ” 

THOR’S EMERALD ^ ^ 
GUILE 


By 

JOHN LUTHER LONG 

Author of “ Madame Butterfly ” 
“Naughty Nan” “Miss Cherry 
Blossom” “The Fox Woman” Etc. 


ILLUSTRA TED 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEir YORK MCMY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 





is the lisrahy of !| 

' CONGRESS. 
two Oooitjs rteceW«(! f 

SEP. 18 t905 ; 

OoDyriffhl Ente 


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COPTBIGHT, 1905, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published August, 1905. 



Nortoaob i^ress 

J. S, Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 


WHETHER YOU BE SICK WITH 
LONGING FOR THESE SQUALID 
HOMES ON EARTH WHERE LOVE 
IS NEVER SURE — OR FOR THOSE 
SPLENDID MANSIONS IN OUR 
FATHER’S HOUSE WHERE IT 
WAITS ALWAYS — THESE ARE FOR 
YOU + + 


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THE CONTENTS 



EEIMWEH 

I Life has no Future at Twenty-one . 

II Happiness is Better than Church 

III Open the Door to Joy — Always 

IV War is Glorious at the Beginning, but not at 

the End 

V We go out to Fight under the Flag ; w'e Return 

— under It 

VI Growing Old is only an Idea — until we Know 
VII Making Believe brings Things .... 
VIII The End of Life is as its Beginning — Simple . 
IX Good Baskets must keep their Bottoms . 

X Things feel Heavier in Age .... 
XI But the Poor-house may be One of the Man- 
sions in Our Father’s House 


PAGE 

3 

8 

12 

16 

19 

22 

27 

31 

36 

41 

47 


IX 



THE SIREN 


PAGE 


I 

Brassid 

. 

. 

. 63 

II 

On the Bottom of the Sea . 

. 

. 

. 63 

III 

She may have had Brothers 

. 

. 

. 68 

IV 

But She was Best of All . 

. 

. 

. 72 


V His Grandfather’s Courage made her want to 

love Him 77 

VI Her Ancestor’s wore Scales .... 82 

VII Strange that Love should make One Afraid . 87 


XI 






' ' I ' ' 


\ 


9 


\ 


'' - 

/ , 

I I 




I, • 



THE LOADED GUN 


I Three Gentlemen of Philadelphia 
II An Ounce of Whiskey or an Ounce of Brains . 

III Calling a Man a Pig .... 

IV He did not Know that it was Loaded 
V A Fool and his Money 

VI The Old Man’s Last Cent . 

VII Her Big Trump . . . . , 


PAGB 

93 

97 

103 

108 

114 

116 

121 


xiii 



LIEBEREICE 

PAGE 

I The House that he and Emmy Built . . .129 

II Emmy and he were never Apart . . . 136 

III “ Vergissnichtmein ” 141 

IV The Night-shirt with the Feather-stitching of 

Blue 145 

V The Second Opening of the Door . . .152 


XV 

















PITER TONAES^^ 

PAGE 

I The Serious Insomnia of Hier Ruhet . . . 157 

II And the Polite Cannon of Weiss Niclit . . 160 

III The Soup-spring 166 

IV Knock Wood 172 

V And Shoot to make Holes 178 

VI Who broke Hier Ruhet’s Leg ? . . . . 183 

VII Pooh! 191 


xvii 


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I 

Where the Orchards Smelled . 

PAGE 

. 197 

II 

The Eyes that Wept till they went Blind 

. 204 

III 

The Golden Teapot with the Blue Bose . 

. 209 

IV 

The Story at Last, Attend 1 . 

. 211 

V 

Hiliary loved Both, and Both loved Him . 

. 215 

VI 

She Believed in Miracles. Do you ? 

. 221 

VII 

That was a Great Time for Kissing 

. 225 

VIII 

What may be Seen on a Doorstep , 

. 232 


xix 



THORNS EMERALD 

I The Shibboleth of Liberty 
n When the Summer came Again 
III The Land of the Brave . 
rv The Home of the Free 
V The Quality of Justice 
VI The Foolishness of Preaching . 
VII To a Higher Tribunal 
VIII The Shadow of Death 


PAGE 

. 237 
. 245 
. 254 
. 260 
. 268 
. 277 
. 285 
. 288 


XXI 



aUILE 


I 

Chilly Wisdom 

PAGE 

. 295 

II 

Patchouly 

. 301 

III 

The Calyxlike Bonnet .... 

. 306 

IV 

The Fiddling of Fortune .... 

. 312 

V 

A Dangerous Train 

. 317 

VI 

Similia Similibus Curantur 

. 322 

VII 

The Ineffable Whirl 

. 329 

VIII 

The Length of a Minute .... 

. 331 

IX 

At Ten in the Morning .... 

. 338 

X 

By the Eight of a Husband 

. 340 


xxiii 



ILL US TRA TIONS 


“ So they marched away to the tune of ‘ The Girl I Left 
Behind Me Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“ ‘ It’s like climbing Zion’s hill,’ said John to himself ” 44 

“ ‘ I guess you’re the right sort,’ he said hoarsely. ‘ Put 

it there!’” 100 

“She was on the floor there before him, her face up- 
raised to his” 126 

“Like a picture in its frame, there stood his wife ” . 152 

“The entire ship’s company gathered and viewed it 

curiously” 192 

“ ‘ I want to marry one of you girls, but hanged if I know 

which one to ask’ ” 218 





HEIMWEH 



HEIMWEHi 


I 

LIFE HAS NO FUTURE AT TWENTY-ONE 

The neighbors called them « Betsy and 
John” — her name first, always. Perhaps 
because she was short and aggressive, he 
tall and inclined to “ lazy.” Only inclined 
to lazy, understand. For, no one had ever 
caught him at it. Indeed, with a certain 
rustic intuition and much experience of his 
kind, they knew it was “ in him ” — that he 
had been “ born to it ” — and they liked him 
better for his constant vanquishment of the 
infirmity. They would have liked him any- 
how — he was a very likable fellow. But 
Betsy they loved. Once in a while some 
zealous friend of John would contend that 
he was the very incarnation of industry. 
John, when he came to know of that sort 
1 Copyright, 1905, by The Metropolitan Magazine. 

3 


4 


HEIMWEH 


of thing, always discouraged it — and did it 
firmly. He would point to the nimble fingers 
of his wife — a thing he was always glad to 
do — and say, sighing : 

« It is that — she — it — makes me ashamed 

— to lazy.” 

She was twenty, he barely twenty-one, 
when they were married. She was a basket- 
maker, he a laborer. They lived in a little 
town on “the Border.” Differing with the 
utmost good nature in everything but one — 
in that they were exactly alike. They had 
no future — absolutely none ! They refused 
to have one. Strong with the vigor of youth 

— happy with the unreason of happiness — 
content with what came — wishing for noth- 
ing they had not — ambitious for nothing 
but a home — they lived but from day to 
day again — sleeping soundly, working gayly, 
thinking not. Why should they be vexed 
about a future — at twenty — twenty-one ? 

Once in a while they went hungry — and 
laughed about it. But, usually, there was 
sufficient demand for her dainty wares ; and 
he was digging trenches in the streets of 


HEIMWEH 


5 


the adjoining town for the pipes of the new 
gas company. He made as much as forty 
cents a day when he worked, while she 
averaged nearly twice as much. You can see 
that there was no reason why they should 
go hungry very often. And, indeed, once, 
when he felt particularly opulent, John bought 
Betsy a gold-plated brooch for her birthday. 
It was in 1835. 

But did I say that there was one thing 
upon which they agreed — in that rejected 
future ? Yes. A home — they wanted a 
home — a roof over their heads, they called 
it — that was all. But, even this was for- 
gotten as the happy years went by. 

« Home is wherever we are ! ” laughed 
Betsy. 

Then came the children, and John began 
to talk and act and think like a very proper 
father — even though Betsy laughed at him. 

“ Betsy,” said John, once upon a time, pull- 
ing down his face, “ we’d ought to begin think- 
ing of the — ” Betsy began to smile, but 
John went on, like a husband and father doing 
his duty — “ er — think of the — er — roof ! ” 


6 


HEIMWEH 


He almost shouted the last word — it 
seemed so ridiculous when he came to it. 

“ At twenty- two ? ” said Betsy. 

John was rocking the cradle. 

“But when a man gits to be a father — ’’ 

laughed Betsy at him, and John 
blushed and stopped. 

But that wasn’t Betsy’s way — to chill 
John with an argument so irrefutable — and 
at such a distance ! She flung her basket 
away, snatched the baby from the cradle, 
and, next, John had his whole family in his 
lap. His wife was laughing, the baby was 
blinking, and John was very happy. 

“ Roof ! ” — she was talking to the baby 
— “do you know what that is? I don’t. 
You haven’t any yet — neither have I. I’ve 
forgotten it. We are going to have one, 
of course — after a while — if your papa 
wants one — now — if he can’t wait — a 
minute — ” 

John put his hand on her mouth. She bit 
it and he kissed her. Then they were tangled 
in an embrace for a moment — the baby 
getting the worst of it. 


HEIMWEH 


7 


‘‘Look here,” said Betsy, then, “don’t you 
think you’ve got enough with us ? Roof I ” 

“ Yes,” confessed John, shamefacedly, “ I 
don’t want you to bother no more about 
it.” 

“I won’t,” said Betsy. 

“ We’ll have it — some day ! ” declared John, 
in his lazy way, “ without any bothering I ” 


II 


HAPPINESS IS BETTER THAN CHURCH 

Four more were born — boys all — goodly 
and ruddy — like their little mother. But, 
one and all, they surprised and delighted her 
by growing tall like their father. 

“You see, John,” said Betsy, “they are 
going to be big like you, and good like me.” 

Well, one by one, they went out into the 
world — but never very far from the romp- 
ing comrade-mother. Away from her the 
world was neither so gay nor so tender. 
They never found another woman so alto- 
gether lovely. 

There was no work for any of them on Sun- 
day, so they would all come home. Indeed, 
in the country of the Germans of Pennsyl- 
vania, no one ever worked on Sunday in that 
day and generation. And such Sundays as 
they were ! No going to church, I fear — a 
heinous omission perhaps. But how could 


8 


HEIMWEH 


9 


they ? There was gentle revelry in the little 
house from the first moment — not a soul 
of them would have missed that for any 
church on earth — and no church on earth 
would have done them so much good — then 
a feast. Sometimes — when all had work 
and wages were good — a stewed turkey ! 
And, after it all, kisses and hugs and good- 
nights — till one thought it would never 
end. 

And, after they were gone, Betsy would cry 
— and John would take her in his lap and say 
never a word — leaving her to fall asleep 
there. 

But once, instead of sleeping, she sat up 
and took John by the throat. 

“John! I’m glad they’re not girls — any 
of them.” For this used to be a complaint 
of Betsy’s — that none of them were girls. 

“Yes,” said John, meekly. 

She gripped his throat a little tighter and 
shook him. 

“They’d git married if they were. Girls 
always do. But boys often have better sense. 
Ours have, anyhow.” 


10 


HEIMWEH 


“TT^ got' married,” ventured John. 

“Well — of courser^ said Betsy, choking 
him. 

But the thing was in her mind all the week. 
There seemed danger. The next Sunday, at 
the table, she said : 

“Look here! Why don’t some of yous git 
— git — married ? ” 

Her hand shook as she dealt out the gravy 
and waited for their answer. 

They looked from one to the other. No 
one knew. 

“ Funny,” laughed Ben, “ but /never thought 
of it.” 

“Nor I,” said Bart. 

“ Hanged if I know,” piped Fred. “ Don’t 
see no girls like you — ” 

“ Can I marry you, mammy ? ” laughed 
Tom, putting his arm around her as she came 
over to him. It was Tom she was most 
afraid of. For he was the youngest — and to 
her he was little short of a god. He had re- 
bellious yellow hair and blue eyes — and little 
patches of whiskers were beginning to grow 
on his face. 


HEIMWEH 


11 


“ Yes,” said his mother, sweeping his girl- 
ish lips with a kiss. 

“ Me, too,” said “ old ” Ben — and he got it. 

And so on all around while John smiled in 
ecstasy. 

“ Boys,” said the little mother, “ there ain’t 
no girl I ever saw that’s fit for any of yous — 
ain’t so, John ? ” 

John, of course, said yes. 

Tom got up, and, after turning her back to 
the rest wiped the tears from his mother’s 
eyes. 

“ Boys,” announced the mother, “ next 
Sunday there will be a turkey — and oyster 
stuffing ! ” 

As she said it she went over and let her 
arms glide gently around the neck of Will, who 
had not spoken on the subject of marriage. 
He caught her hands and drew her arms closer 
while he smiled up at her — a little sadly. She 
kissed him on the great forehead, and he under- 
stood. There had been a brief love affair for 
him, but it was over. Simply a successful 
rival. He never spoke of it — nor did any 
one else. But at least two — understood. 


Ill 


OPEN THE DOOR TO JOY ALWAYS 

But Betsy had caught John surreptitiously 
saving — to buy the roof, he explained ! 

«We — we’re gitting old, you know,” he 
excused. 

« Old! — ” 

Betsy caught up her dainty skirts — very 
high — and pirouetted before him. 

Ein\ tawei, drei\ mC jier, I) ass macht 
sivvd — ” 

She stopped a moment. 

“John! Don’t you remember Eisen- 
krantz’s husking — where I first saw you? 
Oh, John, what a gawk you were ! And yit 
— and yit — John, do you remember how 
you danced that night ? Come ! ” 

She pulled him about with her in a very 
clumsy attempt at waltzing. Then she 
pushed him off. 

“ Oh, you are gitting old. But me — ” 

12 


HEIMWEH 


13 


A few more mad whirls and she flung 
herself into his arms. 

“Say, John, that’s better than any roof.” 

“Er — what?” asked John, whose wits 
were often left behind by his wife’s. 

She came close and shouted in his ear: 

“ Joy ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said John, patting her pretty hair. 

She slipped her arm about him. And 
then her voice was very soft and loving. 

“ And our five boys ! Such boys ! Where 
is there another such five ! If we should 
get old — if we should need a roof — why, 
John — there are our five handsome boys!” 

She cried a little, and John asked her for 
the thousandth time why she did it. 

“ Why does a woman cry ? For joy and 
sorrow — life and death — good and evil ! ” 

“Oh!” said John, once more. 

“John!” His wife woke up and gripped 
his throat again. “ Ben needs a new horse,” 
— Ben was a huckster, — “ Tom wants a 
drill,” — Tom was a farmer, — “and Fred 
must have a new Sunday suit. How much 
money have you saved, you rascal?” 


u 


HEIMWEH 


John told her. And Ben got his horse, 
Tom got his drill, and Fred got his Sunday 
suit — and John saved no more. 

But it was so — they were brave and lov- 
ing fellows — all. And every Sunday — 
when they were gone — it was a game of 
hide-and-seek for Betsy and John — to find 
the money and presents they had left. Of 
course, they were all at places where she 
might easily discover them. But she always 
went shy of the most likely places at first 
— thus prolonging the search — sometimes 
until she was quite tired. In the pocket of 
her second-best dress (she always wore her 
best on Sunday) — in the frame of her 
warped toilet mirror — in the drawers of 
her scratched dressing bureau — in the loaves 
of her new bread ! 

Finally, when the boys all became pros- 
perous, they made her stop weaving baskets, 
and him stop laboring in the streets; all of 
them dressed well, and they became quite a 
company of ladies and gentlemen. Neither 
John nor Betsy was precisely happy after- 
ward. Sunday was longer in coming. But 


HEIMWEH 


15 


they sighed for their idleness, laughed for their 
happiness — and did as the boys told them 
to do : sat still and looked pretty. 

But there is such a thing as getting used 
even to idleness, and joy comes whether 
we work or not — if we are wise enough to 
let it come. And no one in that little cheap 
house ever shut the door on joy. So Betsy, 
after a while, learned to wear her Sunday 
clothes all the week, and John to shave every 
morning. And the door was kept open 
always to joy. 


IV 


WAR IS GLORIOUS AT THE BEGINNING BUT NOT 
AT THE END 

Then, one day, in ’61, they formed in the 
town a “ soldier company ” to go to the 
“front.” No one knew much about it — nor 
where the front was. No one doubted that it 
was to be a great frolic — no one but Betsy. 
And there, in the front rank, all together, as 
brothers should be, stood Betsy’s five boys. 
And, as if this were not enough, there was 
John, too ! With yellow chevrons on his 
sleeves — and a sword at his side — - brave as 
a lion and proud as a major-general. Com- 
pany corporal I Alas ! perhaps the privates, 
too, might have carried swords had there 
been enough to go around. 

John stood it as long as he could. For 
more than a week he swore that he would 
stay at home and take care of Betsy. He 
was too old to frolic. But he went to the 
drill ground every day. Once or twice he 


16 


HEIMWEH 


17 


drilled with them when some one was absent. 
He finally developed such a genius for military 
affairs that the captain went to Betsy and 
voiced John’s yearnings — it was for his coun- 
try that he wanted to fight — it was his duty 
to fight — it was a privilege to fight — it was 
a wife’s duty to let him fight. 

She let John go, too. For, after all, it was 
only a great frolic — they told her ! 

So they marched away to the tune of The 
Girl I Left Behind Me,” and the little mother 
went home to wait. It was very lonely from 
the first hour, and she willingly took up her 
work again. They scolded her when she wept, 
so she tried not to weep. They told her she 
ought not only to be willing to let them go, but 
be glad. She tried to think that she was 
glad. But in her heart she rebelled dismally. 
“We are coming. Father Abraham ! ” had been 
the cry — and her boys, too, had said, with a 
new light in their faces, which she, a woman, 
did not, could not, would not, understand, 
that they were going to fight for their country ! 
Go and fight for their country when they 
might work for her — when they might have 


18 


HEIMWEH 


those Sunday feasts — when she could darn 
their stockings — mend their clothes — have 
her arms about them — theirs about her 

— give them warm beds — plenty of food — 
while the country would give them poor food 

— poor clothes — the ground to sleep on — and 
no Sundays at home! She could not under- 
stand it. No woman who is a mother can. She 
thought of possible wounds on their splendid 
bodies — of them lying stark in the night 
upon some shot-torn battle-field — of burial 
unknown in some vast trench — of fever — 
and terrors — of hospitals — and even of the 
coming home — no more her boys — no more ! 
Soldiers, then, soldiers with rough beards and 
rough voices. She never once thought of them 
coming home dead. 

Alas ! her country was bounded by the 
Rhine. This was their country ! 

But still, as they went, she prayed blindly : 

‘‘God bless you and keep you, my boys, 
and send you back to me as you go — good 
boys. Father Abraham, they are my all — 
everything on earth I love. Send them back 
as you receive them.” 


V 


WE GO OUT TO FIGHT UNDER THE FLAG; WE 
RETURN UNDER IT 

It seemed cruel — it was cruel — that 
her prayer should be so utterly denied her 
— that they should all be killed. But so it 
fell out. 

One by one they came home to her and 
were laid away in the churchyard of Saint 
Michael’s, in their pine coffins and faded uni- 
forms, with the honors of war. It was heart- 
breaking to have to follow them, one by one, 
to their graves — to the same Dead March in 
Saul — to the same muffled drums — to the 
cadenced tramp of soldiers — with the Stars 
and Stripes for shroud — with all the solemn 
pomp of war. 

She thought only of the beautiful thing in 
the coffin to which she had given life. And 
each time she prayed dizzily — iterating it — 
so that God might perhaps the better hear: 


19 


20 


HEIMWEH 


“ Our Father, who art in heaven — keep 
the rest — keep the rest — keep John.” 

The last of them died at Gettysburg — in 
the first day’s fight. 

It was only a few miles away, and on 
the third of July he came home. On the 
fourth, while cannons were bursting for joy, 
she was following once more the soldiers to 
the tune of the Dead March. It was the last. 
She had grown afraid to ^ pray. But once 
more, at the open grave, she raised her hands : 

“Our Father, who art in heaven — keep 
John,” she begged, in whispers. 

When she got home there was a letter for 
her. It spoke of the devotion of her dead 
boys. It was almost as if the writer knew 
them — as she did. This letter was signed 
“ A. Lincoln,” and read : 

“ Dear Madam : 

“ I have been shown in the files of the War 
Department a statement of the Adjutant- 
General of Pennsylvania that you are the 
mother of five sons who have died gloriously 
on the field of battle. I feel how weak arid 


HEIMWEH 


21 


fruitless must be any words of mine which 
should attempt to beguile you from the grief 
of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot 
refrain from tendering to you the consolation 
that may be found in the thanks of the Re- 
public they died to save. I pray that our 
heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of 
your bereavement, and leave you only the 
cherished memory of the loved and lost, and 
the solemn pride that must be yours to have 
laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of 
freedom.” 

“ But they are dead ! ” cried Betsy to the 
letter. She cared nothing for the “ cause ” 
or for “freedom.” They were dead. 


VI 


GROWING OLD IS ONLY AN IDEA UNTIL WE 

KNOW 

And then, when the war was quite over, 
that last pitiful prayer was answered, and 
John came marching home — from the grand 
review — with a captain’s straps on his 
shoulders — a minie ball in his thigh — and 
a perfectly proper sword — the gift of the 
United States of America ! It is quite cer- 
tain that John was very proud of the sword 
— and perhaps even of his limp. 

And Betsy was as proud as he — quite. 
But not of the sword and limp. These, in 
secret, she hated as much as she could hate. 
Perhaps I had better say that she was only 
glad. You may be sure that his glory did 
not keep her off. 

“ I don’t care if you were in twenty-one 
battles. You are only my dear old John.” 

“Only your old John,” said the soldier. 

“ Dear^ I said ! And — and — you’ve got 


22 


HEIMWEH 


23 


to make up for all the rest — one multiplied 
by five, you know — that dear ” 

She suddenly sobbed. 

“ Eh ? ” said John. Then — “ Oh ! ” 

He sobbed, too. 

“ And, as for that limp — I will cure that, 
or my name is not Betsy.” 

And more sobs. 

But for all her trying, he limped the 
more. 

So that long afterward she said : 

“John — I haven’t done it, and my name’s 
still Betsy.” 

But there was no more sobbing about it. 

“ It’s better,” prevaricated John. 

“ No,” said Betsy, “ it ain’t. Something is 
gone. I can’t do things any more.” 

John thought a moment. 

“ Like when you reach out in the dark for 
something you know is there and it ain’t and 
you shiver,” he said then. “ I used to do that 
at night on the ground — reach out for — you ! ” 

“ John ! ” cried Betsy, in her old manner, “ I 
never heard you say so much at one time be- 
fore — nor so nice. What’s the matter ? ” 


24 


HEIMWEH 


« You don’t say so much,” said John. « Pm 
evening up now.” 

«Yes — yes — yes — dear John !” said Betsy, 
with a tear, she did not know for what — 
quite. must talk more.” 

“We’ve lost something and we’ve gained 
something — at another place,” John went on. 
“I don’t know what it is — but it’s some- 
thing.” 

“John, I know, and I’ll tell you.” 

She came and knelt at his side and tried to 
reach his neck with her short arms. 

“ We’re falling in love again ! ” 

John suddenly held her off and stared. 

“ By jiminy ! ” 

“Yes. It was so long to wait — and there 
is nobody but you and me now — and we have 
got to begin all over again. Don’t you see ? ” 
And the tears fell again. 

“ No ! I was always in love with you. 
No!” 

And he was quite stubborn about it. 

“ Yes ! ” she cried. 

“Yes,” John agreed. 

“ No ! ” she laughed. 


HEIMWEH 


25 


“No,” laughed John. 

After a moment she released herself, and, 
taking John by the throat in the old fashion, 
said : 

“And, John, we will begin all over again. 
We’re not old ! So there ! ” 

She spread her skirts and whirled around 
on her toes. 

“Not a day older than in ’35,” said John, 
with glistening eyes. 

She flew upon him and took him again by 
the throat. 

“John!” she cried, “that’s a little too 
much ! ” 

But John was not convinced — though she 
lifted her yellow hair and showed him where 
the gray was creeping in. 

“ But it’s mighty sweet,” she conceded. 

They did exactly as they had planned — 
began all over again. John was as tender 
with her as he had been after that night of 
the husking. And Betsy was as devoted to 
John as she had been in that halcyon time. 

“Growing old is just an idea,” said the 
happy John, one day. 


26 


HEIMWEH 


“ Oh, of course,” agreed Betsy, busily plait- 
ing withes, “ until you Tcnow / ” 

“ Why, everything is just as it was thirty 
years ago — ain’t it, Betsy ? ” 

“John,” laughed Betsy, trying to plunge 
upon him from her work, “ did it ever occur 
to you that your love-making nowadays con- 
sists largely of recalling those other love-mak- 
ings — ^in ’35, you know?” 

John thought a moment. 

“ Why, so it is, Betsy — so it is.” 

“ All imagination.” 

“That’s just as good — just as good,” said 
John, stubbornly. “It’s always new.” 

“Just as good,” laughed his wife, “when 
you don’t know no better — and we don’t, 
John, do we?” 

“No, thank God,” said John, “and I don’t 
want to.” 

“ So don’t I,” said his wife, laughing. 

“Betsy,” asked John, “ do you ever think of 
that roof any more ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Betsy, trying to be seri- 
ous, “and we’ll have it some of these days — 
never fear.” 


VII 


MAKING BELIEVE BRINGS THINGS 

For the next twenty years Betsy made 
baskets and John went in and out with his 
pick and shovel. But they earned less and 
less. And then the owner of their house died 
and left them to the tender mercy of his heirs. 
These promptly began to inquire about the 
arrears of rent. 

“ I don’t know how much we are back, but 
I guess it’s a good deal,” smiled Betsy. 

John was troubled. “ If we’d only kep’ 
on saving, we might own the house by now, 
and — ” 

Betsy put her hand on his mouth — and 
some of the fingers into it. 

«We made better use of it, John, ten 
thousand times better use of it! John — we 
bought happiness with it ! And they are all 
dead, now, back there at Saint Michael’s. 
And there is not a thing to regret — not one. 


27 


28 


HEIMWEH 


Oh, thank God — thank God ! If we had 
saved that money, there would be something 
to regret. We would have to remember that 
one was denied this — the other — that. But 
we’ll have the roof yet.” 

John sniffled and let his arm go gently 
around her. 

“ Betsy — forgive me. I didn’t mean — ” 

“Why, John, dear,” said Betsy, smiling 
again, “in a little while we will not need a 
house. John ! ‘ In my Father’s house are 
many mansions ’ ! ” 

“Yes,” answered John, with a caress, awed 
by the light in his wife’s pretty face. “ Yes 
— yes.” 

“ Who would we leave it to when we die ? ” 

“Just so ! ” cried John. 

“ And in the mansions our boys will be ! 
And it will be Sunday always.” 

When fall came the new owners turned 
them out — and Betsy’s dainty house-things 
were given to the new tenant. They went to 
live in the abandoned out-kitchen of a neigh- 
bor, and Betsy made John believe that she had 
never been quite so happy. And, from mak- 


HEIMWEH 


29 


ing believe, it after a while came to be true. 

She cried once or twice when John was away 

the little place was so bare and ugly. There 
did not seem any way to make a home of it. 
But Betsy set to work to try — with only her 
small hands — and occasionally John’s big 
ones — and almost no money — and surprised 
herself. When it was done, she found that 
she had, somehow, sewn and woven her own 
happiness into the curtains and carpets and 
furniture. 

It took years to do it. Yet she was happy 
every hour of the time. 

Betsy determined, one day, to celebrate the 
completion of her work. So when John came 
home he was met by a glare of light from 
several borrowed lamps, the smell of flowers 
gathered by Betsy herself in the fields, and 
a “ dinner ! ” — as Betsy proudly announced — 
instead of their usual supper. 

John took off his old hat in the midst of it 
and gazed speechlessly. Then he went back — 
outside — and wiped again the soles of his 
boots on the door-mat Betsy had woven. 
Betsy laughed like a girl and pulled him inside. 


30 


HEIMWEH 


Come ! You have got to dance ! ” 

Well — John never could dance. But she 
managed to make him whirl with her dizzily 
through the two tiny rooms she had made. 

“John! It’s beginning all over again! 
Going to housekeeping ! I’m the little bride. 
You can be the groom — if you like?” 

“Yes,” mused John, very happily, “begin- 
ning all over again — going to housekeep- 
ing — again. But something — is not — ” 
The cradle was there — they had always 
kept it — and John looked at that and 
laughed guiltily. 

“Not that, John — not that, John,” cried 
Betsy, plunging into his arms with sobs. 
“Not that — not that — talk about the roof — 
if you like — anything — but — not — that ! ” 


VIII 


THE END OF LIFE IS AS ITS BEGINNING SIMPLE 

Afterwaed life was again to them much 
the same. Only they learned to go more and 
more to the churchyard on Sundays with 
homely garden flowers in their hands. But, 
again, they were very happy. John still main- 
tained that they were renewing their youth. 
Betsy retorted that it was second childhood. 
For there was now a quaver in John’s voice 
which Betsy heard but never spoke of, and a 
tremor in Betsy’s hands which John saw and 
never mentioned. 

The next winter Betsy slipped on the ice 
and fell. To her surprise she could not get 
up again. John carried her in and went for 
the doctor. She had broken her thigh. 

She smiled up at the physician very placidly 
when he shook his head. 

“Doctor, you must — must patch me up. 
John needs me.” 


31 


32 


HEIMWEH 


« John ! ” The doctor turned upon him 
where he slunk into a corner. John hung 
his head. Betsy laughed almost joyously. 
It was she who answered the doctor’s look. 
“ He couldn’t git along without me.” 

She smiled at John, and John smiled back. 
The doctor caught them at this. 

“ In the army ? ” he asked John. 

“Yes,” came from the corner. 

“ Private ? ” 

“ Captain.” 

“ Oh!—” 

He remembered him then. He turned and 
looked at him. 

“ You fought ! ” 

John was silent. But Betsy’s face glowed. 
It was she who answered for him. All about 
him and the five. It made John blush. 

“ Hum — wounded ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Often ? ” 

“ Three times.” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ Leg — thigh — arm.” 

“ That what makes you limp ? ” 


HEIMWEH 


33 


« Guess so.” 

“ Let me look.” 

John uncovered. 

Hum — why didn’t you see me long 
ago ? ” 

« Dunno,” said John. 

“ Army surgeon. No charge to you.” 

John said nothing. 

“ Ever apply for a pension ? ” 

No.” 

« Why?” 

“ Volunteer edy 

“ Hell of a reason — hum ! ” ended the sur- 
geon, turning his back to him and his face 
to the patient on the bed. 

Presently he pulled on his gloves and 
started for the door. He stopped and looked 
at John once more. 

“ Bullet in leg myself. Going to patch you 
both up. Army surgeon. Entitled to my 
services. Didn’t apply for pension ? You 
and I are the only two who didn’t. By.” 

The doctor did patch them up. But for 
Betsy there was to be no more work — nor 
any dancing. The chubby hands could only 


34 


HEIMWEH 


lie quietly within each other and wither. 
The agile feet could not lift themselves from 
the floor unless John helped them. 

John put away his pick and shovel. 

“ I’ll have to learn to make baskets,” said 
he. 

Betsy raised her head from the pillow on 
her chair to laugh. 

“ Don’t you think I kin ? ” 

She looked at his hands and laughed again. 

But we’ll have to try — if you’re willing. 
We got to do something.” 

“Oh, I’m willing,” said John, hopefully. 

“ John ! ” 

Two tears started down her face. John dried 
them and stroked the soft, withered hands. 

“ Dear old John — to be my ’prentice ! ” 


IX 


GOOD BASKETS MUST KEEP THEIR BOTTOMS 

It was true that his wits were dull and his 
hands clumsy, but there was such pleasure in 
the learning that John did it very rapidly. 
And whatever had gone before, and whatever 
was to come after, they were certain that no 
part of their lives had been happier than this 
of John’s apprenticeship at eighty to the trade 
of basket-making. 

But his baskets were certainly clumsy as 
such hands were likely to make them, and had, 
besides, a way of losing their handles and 
bottoms at critical moments, which was, at 
least, unfortunate. 

John discovered, after a while, that every 
purchase was simply so much charity. And, 
thus far, they had lived proudly — with the 
wage-earner’s terror of dependence. One day 
one of his customers told him, brutally, about 
the insecurity of the baskets — and John 


35 


36 


HEIMWEH 


decided at once that he must do something 
else. 

“No, John,” said Betsy, “make baskets. 
But make them for play — not for use. For 
the school children. Their baskets do not 
need strong bottoms.” 

John wanted to shout. 

“I kin — I kin do that! They like me. 
The children like me.” 

So John entered another phase of his 
strange life. And none that had preceded 
it had been more beautiful. The house was 
always full of children. And he could never 
be seen on the streets of the town without two 
or more of them clinging to his hands and the 
skirts of his old uniform coat. If he happened 
to meet them coming from school, they would 
flock after him to his door — one or two — 
very carefully chosen — to sit on either side of 
the little invalid’s chair and hear stories the 
most wonderful outside of story-books. But 
for the sake of old times Betsy would often 
have them all in — so that the little rooms 
were jammed with them — and then they 
might romp about her as they pleased till 


HEIMWEH 


37 


John saw that she was tired. Then he would 
put them all out. 

These were the best friends they ever had 
— the children. But as customers for his 
wares they were soon supplied and John was 
idle again. And it was winter — and there 
was nothing to do and John had never asked 
for charity and, he had often said, never 
would. 

So there came a day when there was noth- 
ing in the house for the white little wife to eat. 
As for John, he could not have told exactly 
when he had broken his fast. They said 
nothing about it to each other — both under- 
stood. Betsy even tried to lighten John’s 
grimness by a pitiful little joke. She thought 
it would show John how brave she was. 

« A drink, John, please. There is plenty of 
water ^ is there not ? ” 

“Plenty of water — yes, plenty of water!” 
said John, in a way that made Betsy 
tremble. For the first time John was terrible. 

She sent him out that afternoon to hunt 
for work. He came back unsuccessful and 
with a certain wildness in his eyes. 


38 


HEIMWEH 


But there was a supper for them. A stew 
of meat steamed on the table. John brought 
it and fed Betsy — wondering without question. 

“You, too, John, dearest; you, too.” 

Well — John was very hungry and he be- 
gan to eat. Presently he noticed that Betsy 
was crying softly. It was a long time before 
she succumbed to his coaxing. But then she 
confessed : 

“ She said I ought to go to the poor-house.” 

“ Who ? ” shouted John, rising angrily. 

« Mrs. Morrell, who brought the meat.” 

John flung the bowl and its contents out 
of the window. Betsy was awed. She had 
never seen him like that. 

“ John ! ” she coaxed softly. 

“ That’s what Miller told me. God ! Said 
I wasn’t worth nothing to work no more. 
I’ll show ’em — I’ll show ’em ! ” 

But he didn’t show them — he could not. 
Age had come at last, and at last he knew 
this. He earned nothing — and their hunger 
went on. 

And, one evening, Betsy timidly resumed 
the hated subject. 


HEIMWEH 


39 


“IVe been thinking about it, John, dear, 
and she meant it very kind. It is warm 
there, J ohn, and there is plenty of food. 
John — ” 

“ My God, Betsy, do you want to go — live 
on charity — do you at last want to leave me 

— and live on charity — do you want to sepa- 
rate after sixty years — and live on charity ? 

— Oh, my God ! ” 

« No — no — no ! John, let us stay together 
now until — the end,” said Betsy. “ Forgive 
me. Only I’m such a burden to you — and 
it is so cold — ” 

John had another period of savage activity. 
It brought no work. But the agitation shat- 
tered him. He went to bed, and when he 
rose again his spirit was broken. 

“John,” said Betsy to him then, with an 
angelic light on her face, “when you get a 
little better we — will go.” 

John only looked stern. 

“ I have thought it all over — it is best.” 

“ I will not go,” said John, quietly. “ I am 
a soldier ! ” 

“Yes, John, dear, but — ” 


40 


HEIMWEH 


“Betsy,” asked John, solemnly, “do you 
wa/nt to go ? ” 

He never knew what a hero she became 
before she answered : 

«Yes — John — I — I want — to go. Pm 
so cold — and so hungry — ” 

“Very — well,” said John. But his hand 
shook so that he could not put it to his eyes. 

“Just till you get right on your feet again, 
John, darling, just till you’re quite well. I’m 
such a burden to you now. We’re such a 
burden to each other. Just till things are 
better with you. That will be soon, I know 
it. Then, John, dear John, you shall come 
for me ! Think of that ! It will be another 
home-coming ! Another beginning ! Another 
bride and groom ! ” 

John listened avidly. A new and more 
youthful light flashed into his face. 

“ Betsy — do you mean that ? ” 

“ Mean it ? Every word, John, every word ! ” 
He savagely caught her hands. 

“ You will come back to me ? ” 

“ No,” said Betsy, “ you shall bring me 
back ! ” 


X 


THINGS PEEL HEAVIER IN AGE 

So, one day, a farm wagon, piled high with 
straw and pillows, came and took her away. 
The last thing she said was : 

“Dear John! we have lived together sixty 
years and you never gave me an unkind word. 
Kiss me ! And again ! Oh, it’s like ’35, 
ain’t it ? And, John, come for me as soon as 
things are better with you. And if I can’t do 
without you that long and send for you — 
will you come before ? ” 

“Yes,” said John, chokingly. It was all he 
could say. 

Betsy kept her face toward John — then 
toward the house — then the tallest tree — 
then the steeple of the church — long after 
each had successively disappeared from view. 
Then she bravely turned it toward the poor- 
house. 

And John watched the wagon as it climbed 


41 


42 


HEIMWEH 


hill after hill and disappeared in valley after 
valley till it was lost to view. 

John tried his pick and shovel again. But 
they were thick with rust and very heavy. 
And the wounded doctor had just brought him 
a crutch — saying that as he was having one 
made for himself he had also had one made 
for John — though he could do without it. 
He smiled a little then and put away forever 
his old and faithful tools. For a living he did 
what he could. It w^as not much, and he and 
hunger came to be rare intimates. 

But that youthful hope which Betsy’s last 
words had wrought, and its almost savage 
vigor to do for her, did not depart from John. 

After a while something went wrong with 
his head. He fancied that she was still with 
him in the little house and always had been. 
Her dainty old clothing was about everywhere 
to foster this. One night he dreamed of her 
— that she was by his side. The dream was 
so real that he reached out his arms — only to 
close them on the air. Then he understood for 
a little that it had all been but a fancy. He 
lay for a long time shuddering and passing 


HEIMWEH 


43 


now and then his arms through the empty 
air — thinking that might have been real and 
this the fancy. Toward morning a wondrous 
thought came to him. He remembered that 
she had said he was to come for her. He was 
to bring her back. There was to be another 
beginning — another home-coming — another 
bride and groom. He did not remember the 
rest — that he was to wait until his affairs had 
improved, or until she sent for him. 

He pictured it all in the vivid darkness — 
how he would suddenly appear before her in 
his Sunday clothes — which meant his best 
uniform — and say « Come 1 ” 

A wondrous voice echoed his own «Come!” 

He flung himself out of the bed like a 
youth. He shaved with great care — he wore 
no beard and had a clean fresh face — set 
everything in order in the tiny rooms — 
pulled down the blinds, locked the door, 
and, taking up his crutch, started away over 
the road the wagon had gone to the poor- 
house. 

He paused on the hills and looked backward 
as Betsy had done. The blinking windows 


44 


HEIMWEH 


seemed to beckon him back. But he bravely 
said no to them : 

“I ain’t no deserter! I’m coming back — 
with her — with her. Don’t you understand ? 
With her ! Bride and groom again.” 

The windows seemed to understand, and 
stopped beckoning. He waved them a farewell 
and went on. 

It was a long road — forty dusty miles — 
and hilly. Each hill growing higher and 
steeper as he approached the city — itself set 
upon a hill — where the poor-house was. His 
progress was very slow — sometimes not more 
than half a mile a day. But he never faltered. 

<< It’s like climbing Zion’s hill,” said John 
to himself. Oh, when she sees me ! I 
shan’t care how many hills there were 1 ” 

His bundle was made up in a great red 
handkerchief, from which his sword pro- 
truded, within which was his best uniform. 
Farm-houses were his sleeping places — but 
that only. No more than one night for each, 
though he might have stayed anywhere as 
long as he wished. 

“I’m going to bring her — her, you know. 



“ ‘ Ifs like climbing Zion's hill,' said John to himself" 







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HEIMWEH 


45 


home. Bride and groom. She said it. I 
heard her voice in the night.” 

And this was always sufficient reason for 
refusing the dear, insidious hospitality pressed 
everywhere upon him. 

If night came and there was no farm-house 
near, he would nestle in the straw of a way- 
side stack, under the stars, damp with the 
dew, to rise with the sun in his face. He 
liked that, and could go on without breakfast. 
It was all very beautiful. 

His great climax grew upon him mile by 
mile, until it was the only thing he had in his 
poor old head. 

« She will be sitting this way — with her 
hands in her lap, like she always sits now,” 
he would say to himself, “ thinking of me. I 
expect she’s thinking of me all the time. I’ll 
shave and put on my uniform and my sword, 
and suddenly appear before her. Attention ! — 
you know. Only I’ll not say that — so’s not 
to frighten her. Mebby she’ll be reading 
her Bible. Then she’ll not see me till I’m 
right on top of her. Then I’ll say, soft, so’s 
not to frighten her — about this a — way — 


46 


HEIMWEH 


‘ B — E — T — S — Y ! ’ ” He whispered it lov- 
ingly. “ And she’ll just say < John ! ’ ” This 
was a sharp cry of joy. 

He never got further than this. It did not 
seem necessary. What could be better ? 
What could be beyond that? 

His journey came to an end suddenly — as 
it seemed to John. It made him gulp on 
something in his throat. One morning the 
spires of the city lay close before him as if 
they had been conjured out of a dream. 
There it was against the pink clouds, within 
the morning mists, glowing, like the City of 
God as he had fancied it. He stood and 
gazed upon it, awed and bewildered. He 
had not thought of it as beautiful. To him 
it was only the city of the poor-house. Per- 
haps Betsy would not wish to leave a place so 
beautiful. 

He bravely cast out the unworthy thought. 
She would leave any place for him. Heaven 
itself. With his faith renewed he went up 
into the city of the spires. 


XI 


BUT THE POOB-HOUSE MAY BE ONE OP THE 
MANSIONS IN OUB PATHEB’S HOUSE 

And there he found the first unkindness of 
his long journey. No one offered him a place 
to sleep or a bite to eat. And there he could 
not see the sun when it rose in the morning. 
And what had become of the glories of the 
city he had seen against the clouds? This 
one was not glorious. 

On the third day he found the poor-house. 
It was a splendid building on the top of a hill. 
Before he quite reached it he did as he had 
planned. There was a beautiful wood back of 
the place. Here, under the trees, he shaved and 
put on his uniform. There was a spot of rust 
on the sword. He smiled as he thought how 
Betsy would have chided him for that. He 
found some soft earth and rubbed it off. The 
old clothing, and everything else, he put back 
into the red handkerchief and hid the bundle 


47 


48 


HEIMWEH 


under the roots of the tree. Then he marched 
up to the great and beautiful door — without 
his crutch — every inch a soldier once more. 

A uniformed official led him in, and at last 
he was in the presence of his wife. She was 
dead. Her hands were folded within each 
other as he himself had often folded them. 
There were — on head and breast — the dainty 
cap and kerchief which she herself had long 
provided against her burial. On her dear face 
was the peace that passeth understanding. 
Indeed, she smiled up at him as he looked. 

Then John’s heart stopped. At Betsy’s 
side he died. And so quietly that they who 
stood near never heard the sound of his gentle 
old voice. 

They sleep together — Betsy and John. 
Not at Saint Michael’s with their five boys. 
Of them nothing was known at the poor- 
house. Their graves are in the burying- 
ground of the poor. There is a cheap stone 
upon which somebody has carved only their 
names and this text : 

MY father’s house ARE MANY 
MANSIONS ” 


HEIMWEH 


49 


because Betsy’s Bible, when they took it up, 
fell open at that scripture — and her trem- 
bling finger had deeply marked the words as 
it followed them day after day to aid her 
dimming sight. 








h •» . * < • 


THE SIREN 


THE SIREN 1 


I 

BRASSID 

They tell yet, on the porches of the Crazy- 
Quilt House, — though it is two years, — 
how savage Brassid met the laughing Sea-Lady, 
and how, at last, he adored her laughter more 
the more she laughed at him, and how she 
loved his savagery more the more savage he 
was to her. 

And, then, on to the consequences of that 
laughter and that savagery, which you are to 
know at the end. 

Mrs. Mouthon — the lady who uses snuff 
— insists that it was all pretence : that 
Brassid was not savage — in his room, and that 
Miss Princeps never laughed — in her room. 
Mrs. Mouthon’s room was between theirs. 

Nevertheless, Miss Carat, who has the one 
deaf ear, contends that it is absurd, absolutely 
absurd. For, she argues, why should they 

1 Copyright, 1904, by The Century Co. 

53 


54 


THE SIREN 


have pretended, in the first place, and why 
should they not^ if they had liked, in the last 
place ? But, then. Miss Carat, the other five 
first-class boarders whisper, always opposes 
anything which proceeds from Mrs. Mouthon. 

It seems that Brassid, weary and seeking 
seclusion, arrived on the last train of a Wednes- 
day night. The man who carried his bag up 
from the little station told him that the Crazy- 
Quilt House was a sanatorium for women with 
head-trouble. It appeared that Brassid and 
the porter, who was also many other things 
at the hotel, would be the only men in the 
house — a state of affairs which immediately 
created a subtle camaraderie between the two 
men, though the porter was colored. 

“ Call me in time for the first train up 
to-morrow morning,” said Brassid, as the 
friendly porter dragged himself out of his 
room. 

“ It goes at six o’clock, sir,” warned the 
porter, perhaps wishing to detain him a little 
longer, for already the porter liked Brassid 
amazingly. Did I mention that every one 
did this, in spite of his ferocity ? 


THE SIREN 


55 


“No matter,” said Brassid, shivering at the 
thought of the unearthly hour — and of the 
ladies with head-trouble — Brassid, who com- 
posed poems in bed until ten in the morning ! 

“ All right, sir,” said the porter, as if warn- 
ing Brassid that he would regret it. 

However, that was why Brassid appeared 
at the dinner-table in a dinner-coat — because 
he knew that the invalid ladies would be there 
— and that thus it would be easier for him. 

There were six, and one vacant place — 
opposite. The lady on his left put up her 
lorgnon in haste. The one at the top of the 
table put something like a pepper-box into 
her ear and leaned to listen. 

“ Lovely weather ! ” said Brassid. 

“ Rheumatic weather ! ” said the lady with 
the pepper-box. 

“It’s no such thing!” said the lady who 
took snuif. “ It’s asthmatic ! ” 

Something dropped with a small clatter 
into Brassid’s plate. The lady on his left 
flung her lorgnon to her eyes. Miss Carat 
jammed her pepper-box to her ear. Some 
one laughed, then checked it. 


56 


THE SIREN 


An old locket, in the fashion of a heart, 
lay in Brassid’s plate. A bit of ribbon gave 
evidence of some severed attachment. Bras- 
sid was hopelessly fitting back to its place 
a flake of blue enamel. 

He tried to discourage the interest in his 
keepsake by covering it with his napkin. 
Then he looked up. The vacant seat was oc- 
cupied, and the lady was trying to smother 
her laughter. 

Brassid got red and crunched the napkin 
in a way which said plainly, “ So it was you 
who laughed ! ” 

She did it again. 

He restored the piece of napery with a 
brave nonchalance, and took up the locket. 

The lady’s eyes retorted as plainly as her 
lips could have done, “ Too late ! ” 

He remembered precisely how they did it, 
— out of the tops of their firm white lids, — 
with a movement which was personal, a fas- 
cination which was irresistible. He was to 
read other speeches of these eyes, often 
repeated. But he was to read this one only 


once more. 


THE SIREN 


67 


Well, Brassid broke his guard and laughed 
with her. 

“ It is no laughing matter,” said the lady 
with the lorgnon, fixing the lady who had 
laughed with its stare. 

It was a critical moment : the lady who 
laughed might have retorted. But nothing 
further happened — except to Brassid. He 
was falling in love. 

“ I think it is,” he said in her defence. 
And he said it with all Brassid’s savagery. 

“Oh, well, it’s your souvenir,” said Mrs. 
Mouthon, odiously. 

“It is,” said Brassid. 

He sprung the little case open and showed 
them a savage face much like his own. But 
there was a uniform with a high collar. 

“ My grandfather, the Indian-fighter. I 
wear it around my neck.” 

And the lady opposite guiltily put her head 
down, permitting Brassid to see the loveliest 
of blond crowns, and, now and then, the edge 
of her smile ; again, almost a laugh. 

And so Brassid fell in love. 

They cross-examined him with the pre- 


58 


THE SIKEN 


cision and directness of barristers. He in- 
formed them that he came from the city, 
and who his parents were, and their parents, 
and theirs, all of whom seemed to be known 
to some of the six. The lady opposite kept 
her head down, but the smile came and went, 
nearer and nearer to laughter. 

“ Do you intend making some stay with us, 
sir ? ” inquired the lady with the one deaf 
ear. 

“ It is quite possible,” said Brassid, and the 
lady opposite barely restrained her inclination 
to look up. “It is such a delightful little 
place, and the swimming must be fine.” 

Now Miss Princeps did look up. She 
seemed a little startled, and, then, did Brassid 
detect a bit of pleasure for her in his announce- 
ment? At the same moment all of the six 
looked toward Miss Princeps and detected her. 
Perhaps they more than detected her. 

“ Bill ” (that was the porter) “ said that 
you were going up on the morning train.” 

Brassid laughed. 

“ Do you, then, swim ? ” asked Mrs. 
Mouthon. 


THE SIREN 


59 


“ I am a very good swimmer,” declared 
Brassid. 

Again Miss Princeps looked up, sharply 
now, not caring that the six again stared at 
her. She inspected Brassid with some care. 
She seemed satisfied. 

“Miss Princeps swims,” said Miss Carat. 

Now the eyes of the lady opposite met the 
eyes of Brassid in a frank stare. Brassid 
blushed, as we do when we think we have 
overstated our accomplishments in the presence 
of some one who knows. 

“There is nothing the matter with her,” 
one of the invalids said, referring to head- 
troubles, and Brassid answered with tremen- 
dous conviction : 

“No!” 

Before the meal was over the lady with the 
pepper-box asked Brassid’s first name, and 
formally presented him, including the lady 
opposite. But it was only as she rose to go 
and swept the table with a little smiling bow 
that Brassid really saw her superbness. 

When she had left the room he found him- 
self still on his feet staring out of the door 


60 


THE SIREN 


whence she had vanished. They caught him 
in a sigh. 

“Sit downl’’ commanded the lady who 
took snuff. 

And they kept Brassid there and bullied 
him till he wanted to get up and fight the lot 
of them man-fashion. 

They informed him severally that she was 
an actress; that she was a widow with a 
deformed child of which she was ashamed ; 
that she was a deserted wife ; that she had 
once been married to a very wicked man of 
title ; that she was “ strange ” — sat for hours 
on the beach alone, sang, swam, walked, did 
everything but flock with them. 

“ God bless her I ” said Brassid. 

The lady who snuffed arose. 

“ Lord help you ! ” she said grimly. 

“ Eh ? ” said Brassid. 

“ What were those women who lured a man 
into a cave and made a swine of him ? ” 

Her appeal was to Brassid. 

“ I suppose you mean the sirens.’’ 

“ Yes, that was their name. That woman 
is a siren I ” 


THE SIREN 


'61 


“ And you’re in love with her ! ” charged 
the lady who was deaf, in a thick voice. 

“ In love ! ” laughed Brassid. “ Ha, ha, 
ha! ” 

Yes, ha, ha, ha ! ” mimicked the lady who 
snuffed. 

« I never saw her till to-day,” said Brassid. 

Neither did that other man see the sirens 
until he passed them on his way home.” 

This convicted him before the six. 

And, in the solitude of his room, it went far 
toward convicting him before himself, though 
he still laughed his hollow ha, ha, ha ! 

“Love at first sight! You! Old Brassid! 
Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

He was speaking to the gentleman who 
faced him in the mirror. 

At that moment she passed his door. She 
was softly singing : 

“ They sailed away 
In a gallant bark.’’ 

He had seen her but once, yet he knew the 
rustle of her silken skirts ! 

The next morning at ten Brassid was com- 
posing poems in bed, quite as he did at home 


62 


THE SIREN 


— about her! He hummed and sang the 
things he fetched from within in a fashion 
which lent color to Mrs. Mouthon’s theory. 

Some one knocked on his door. 

“ Come in ! ” sang Brassid, happily. 

But it was only the colored porter. 

He was winking his eyes rapidly, fancying 
that in that way he looked penitent while he 
did not feel so. The rumor of Brassid’s in- 
fatuation had reached the porter. 

“ I’m sorry, sir,” said the porter. 

“ Oh ! What for. Bill ? ” So, suddenly had 
their comradeship grown to first names ! 
« Everybody is sorry now and then. Brace 
up!” 

The porter stared. 

“ The six-o’clock train, sir.” 

Now Brassid stared. 

« I forgot it, sir.” 

« Thank you,” said Brassid, and he gave the 
porter a dollar for forgetting the six-o’clock 
train ! He had forgotten it more than the 
porter. 


II 


ox THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA 

They met more formally, presently, on the 
bottom of the sea. Brassid plunged in the 
moment he arrived at the surf, and went out 
and imder with a long, strong push. He saw 
a face on the bottom. It stared uncannily up 
at him through the wavering green water. 
Brassid followed it and dragged it breath- 
lessly to the surface. There she laughed at 
him. 

« I — I — thought you were d-dead ! ” 
gasped Brassid. 

“ Not at all,” smiled the Sea-Lady. 

« Why, how long were you under ? ” 

« Not long.” 

“It seemed as if you had been there all 
day ! ” 

grandfather was a whaler,” said the 
Sea-Lady, winking the water out of her eyes 
solemnly, as if that explained her. 

“J/y grandfather was an Indian-fighter,” 
63 


64 


THE SIREN 


cried Brassid, joyously, which was his way of 
saying that the one was as intelligible as the 
other. 

Her laughter broke loose. 

“ Look at me ! ” commanded Brassid, 
suddenly, with that savagery which he had 
from his grandfather. “ You are shamming 
— and doing it beautifully. You were in 
distress down there ! And if I hadn’t come 
along — ” 

But by that time she was doing exactly 
what Brassid had asked — looking at him 
with the most wonderful eyes of blue Brassid 
had seen since his mother died. Brassid 
funked ingloriously. Think of it ! 

“The lady with the lorgnon has seen us, 
and is coming,” she warned. 

“ Yes ! ” 

He was frightened, too. 

“ Let us swim a little.” 

“ Yes.” 

They plunged in. 

“ Be careful,” said Brassid. 

“ATy grandfather was a whaler,” she 
laughed back as she raced away to sea. 


THE SIREN 


65 


“Oh, you can swim!’’ he exclaimed joy- 
ously. 

“ Can you f ” she laughed. 

“A little,” he answered — more carefully 
now. 

“ Come ! ” 

After that she admitted Brassid to a pre- 
carious intimacy, based upon swimming. In 
the sea she was everything Brassid could wish. 
On the land she was not. 

“ She’s like a fish out of water,” jested the 
lady who took snuff. 

“ Do not be discouraged,” shouted she of the 
pepper-box. “ I do not think she knows yet 
that you’re courting her.” 

All the ladies cackled. 

“ Who said I was courting her ? ” demanded 
Brassid, with ferocity. 

The ladies laughed again. And when Miss 
Princeps came down they surrounded her and 
told her Brassid’s delightful joke. 

“ I’ve warned him,” said one, “ that you’re 
a siren — one of those ladies who — ” 

Well, it was his first comradeship, and it 


66 


THE SIREN 


happened to be an extraordinarily perfect one. 
It was so very blessed that, to use the words 
of Mrs. Paradigm (she was the lady with the 
lorgnon), he went crazy over it. And perhaps 
if you had known Brassid’s Sea-Lady, you 
would not have wondered — you might have 
commended him for going crazy. You remem- 
ber that she had the eyes of Brassid’s blessed 
mother. 

“ I never hoped to see them on earth again,” 
he said to the face in the mirror. 

Oh, she was rich and splendid and fragrant 
and melodious — I am using Brassid’s book of 
adjectives — and altogether more lovely in 
every detail of herself than any one else on 
earth! And he had constantly the ecstatic 
feeling that he had discovered her, really ; but 
he never did. For the Sea-Lady was unlike 
any one he had ever known. He literally 
knew that she was wonderful in every way 
that a lover could wish a sweetheart to be 
wonderful, yet there was not a single admis- 
sion to go upon. Whenever she caught her- 
self showing Brassid her heart, — and she 
would have been fond of showing this to 


THE SIREN 


67 


Brassid if he had been a woman, perhaps, — 
she went to cover — and asked him to swim ! 
And I am glad to think that that is the only 
reason he never saw her heart — never really 
discovered her. 

Until that last day — that second time the 
eyes said, “ Too late ! ” 

And of that I am now to tell you. 


Ill 


SHE MAY HAVE HAD BROTHERS 

«By Jove!” said Brassid, that day, as he 
watched her conquest of the choppy waves, 
“ you a/re something nautical ! I do believe 
that your ancestors wore scales ! ” 

“Oh, Brassid! Thank you! Think of 
having such a crest as that ! Eight carp 
gules ! And the nearest I can come to it is 
the whaler ! Brassid, in the sea I almost 
love you ! And when you really begin to 
< court ’ me and feel that you must propose, do 
it in the water, to the diapason of the waves, 
in the sight and hearing of my scaly rela- 
tives ! ” 

“ Hanged if I do ! ” said Brassid. “ You 
have got to hear that ; but it will be in your 
own house.” 

“ In evening dress ? ” 

“ Very likely.” 

“ On your knees ? ” 


68 


THE SIREN 


69 


‘‘ On my knees.” 

Horrid, Brassid ! ” 

“ It is your fate.” 

« But why, Brassid ? Why must it be ? 
Isn’t this lovely enough ? ” Miss Princeps 
mourned. 

“ Because I love you,” said he, stoutly. 

“ But, Brassid dear, that’s no reason.” 

“It is. Every man who loves a woman 
must propose to her — if for no other reason 
than to be rejected. Then and then only he 
will see his finish. And I won’t see mi/ne even 
then. And, to show you that you like me 
very much, at least, let me remind you that 
you quite unconsciously called me ‘ dear ’ just 
now.” 

“ Brassid, my grandfather was a whaler.” 

“Well, what on earth has that to do with 
it?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ You love me — that’s what it means.” 

“ Oh ! ” 

“ Yes ! ” 

“ I may have brothers — whom I call dear 
— and — so — get used to it — ” 


70 


THE SIREN 


“ Have you ? ” demanded Brassid, with the 
ferocity that came and went so quickly. 

“No, sir,” she answered obediently. 

“Oh, you are the most delicious being on 
earth ! ” laughed he. “ And I won’t wait till 
we get to town ! ” 

But Brassid had forgotten to tread, and got 
a generous mouthful of salt water. 

“ Brassid,” wailed the lady, “ I’m sorry for 
you ; but you are punished for taking advan- 
tage of me at a time and in an element when 
I almost love you.” 

“ Don’t you dare to pity me ! I’m not done 
with you ! ” spluttered Brassid. “ This is my 
chance — you said it — in — the — sea.” 

“ In fun ! Only in fun ! ” she cried. “ Can’t 
you see a joke ? ” 

Before he got his chance she said : 

“Brassid, we are far enough. You are 
tired. Let us go back.” 

“ I won’t ! ” 

« Why ? ” 

“You are mine out here. I am going to 
keep you — out here.” 

“Would you come and live with me in the 


THE SIREN 


71 


Dragon King’s palace beneath the sea, where 
it is always wet ? ” 

“Yes. Whither thou goest I will go.” 

“ Brassid, I am going home. You will not 
be restrained.” 

“ And I’ll follow you. The only way to get 
rid of me is to marry me.” 

“ Then I will never, never marry you, Bras- 
sid,” said the Sea-Lady, leaving him that rid- 
dle, which he never solved. For it was the 
last day, and presently it would be the second 
time that her eyes of blue had said, “Too 
late I ” 


IV 


BUT SHE WAS BEST OF ALL 

She pulled him out of the water, and they 
bathed in the sun. Not a ship sailed the 
sea. 

His voice spoke first, as if he dreamed — a 
fragment — ‘‘ But you are best of all ! ” 

She looked up and found his eyes upon her. 
With her own she questioned him. 

“ Nothing is in sight, nothing can be heard, 
but what God has made. This ! ’’ He waved 
his hand at the immaculate sky. “ That ! ’’ 
The limitless sea. “ The earth ! ” He pointed 
where it stretched away from them to the 
vanishing-point. “ You ! ” 

« No — you ! ” she laughed. 

“And it is all good. God alone knows 
how good. he repeated, while his gaze 

was fixed upon her upturned face, “ you are 
best of all ! ” 

She kept her eyes upon him in wonder ; for 


72 


THE SIREN 


73 


if he had not solved the Sea-Lady, she had not 
solved him. And this was very strange from 
savage Brassid. 

“Yes; God made nothing so perfect as a 
perfect woman — you ! ” 

“ You think me perfect ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Oh, Brassid ! ” 

But something clanged in her brain. 

“ I love you ! ” 

“ Don’t, Brassid ! ” she begged. “ You have 
touched to-day what you have never touched 
before, what no one has — don’t ! ” 

It was a mighty occasion ; but she would 
not have it. She fought it with her best 
weapon — levity. She laughed. She made 
him laugh, and it was done. 

“Oh, Brassid,” she sighed, “forgive me! 
But it is too lovely. And afterward we could 
not swim together any more.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Why, Brassid ! Who ever heard of a re- 
jected lover taking the same walks with his 
late beloved under the same trees by the light 
of the same moon ? ” 


74 


THE SIREN 


“Walks?” questioned Brassid, dully. 

“ Our swims are the same as walks to other 
lo — ” 

“ Aha ! ” cried Brassid, “ you almost said 
‘ lovers ’ ! ” 

“ Did I ? How stupid of me ! ” 

“ Do you mean to say that you absolutely 
and positively refuse me ? ” shouted he, 
belligerently. 

“ Certainly not, my dear Brassid,” she 
hurried forth. “ I can’t refuse what you 
haven’t offered. And, dear Brassid,” she went 
on caressingly, “I know that you won’t offer 
— because — because — ” 

“ Out with it I ” cried Brassid, still in his 
ferocity. 

“ Because I like you so — to swim with ! ” 

“ And when there is no swimming ? ” 

“No Brassid — ” 

“ I tell you there will be ! ” he threatened. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it; for I shouldn’t 
like this world so well without its Brassid — 
since I know him. But, Brassid dear, — 
there ! the whaler again ! — why must you 
marry me ? ” 


THE SIREN 


75 


“ Because it’s every woman’s business to be 
married.” 

“ But not every man’s, then ? So that I 
might marry some one else, and not bother 
you with — ” 

“ That is just the trouble ! ” cried the savage 
in him again. ‘‘ You will marry some one else 
if I let you get away from me.” 

“ As if I were game ! ” 

“ You are. The noblest game on earth.” 

« Brassid ! ” 

<«Yes. You couldn’t go long uncaptured. 
How have you escaped ? All the men you 
knew must have been blind, deaf, dumb.” 

“ Ah, well,” Miss Princeps sighed, “ if one 
must be married some time or other, thank 
God that there are Brassids ! But who ever 
heard of two married people swimming to- 
gether ! ” 

“We will,” still threatened Brassid. 

“ We ? ” 

“Yes, we.” 

“ It doesn’t sound badly, Brassid,” 

“Now that’s better. For you know that, 
though I’m a poor enough sort, no one has 


76 


THE SIREN 


ever adored you as I do, and that you — yes, 
you — were never such a comrade with any 
one else.’’ 

“ Why, Brassid ! ” 

“ Isn’t it so ? Answer me ! ” 

“Yes, sir,” she said. 

They laughed together. 

“Please don’t be cross, Brassid dear, just 
because I can’t marry you ! I’ll keep on call- 
ing you ‘ dear ’ if you won’t.” 


V 


HIS geandfathek’s courage made her want 

TO LOVE HIM 

In the sea again, whither she dragged him 
after that, far from land, as they looked back 
at the people on the beach ; 

“Before you came,” laughed the girl, “I 
had all the fun to myself. They would follow 
me with their glasses, expecting me to throw 
up my arms and call for help. The hotel man 
actually bought a rope with straps and buckles 
and things on the end to save me. They used 
to bring it down every time I went in. Now 
Bill uses it to pull the trunks up. And no 
one ever minds us. See, not a soul is looking 
this way ! Brassid, it was lovely of you to 
come. You are ” — she laughed, and by a deft 
stroke came so close as to touch him — “ both 
my chaperon and palladium. Of course I sup- 
pose if we should ever get into trouble I would 
have to save you. My grandfather was a 
whaler. But back there they have the most 
77 


78 


THE SIREN 


beautiful confidence in you, just because you 
are a man. I am not pleased with you in 
that, Brassid. It is false pretence. I shall 
let you save yourself — remember.” 

“ I wouldn’t allow you to save me.” 

« What ! You ungrateful — Brassid ! I can 
swim twice as far as you can. But I’m glad 
to hear that.” 

« When I was taught to swim, my teacher 
dinned into my ears that I was never to for- 
get when I went out that I had to come back. 
See ? ” 

For reply she raced away from him. 

« My grandfather was a whaler. I wasn’t 
taught to go back.” 

He followed as lustily until he had caught 
her. They laughed splendidly. 

“Jfy grandfather,” he laughed, “the Vir- 
ginia ranger, you remember, was too proud to 
call for help when he fought his last fight 
within a hundred yards of the pickets of his 
own regiment.” 

“Brassid, I love that!” she cried breath- 
lessly, going to his side. “ What happened to 
him ? ” 


THE SIREN 


79 


“ He was killed. But when they found 
him he had five dead Indians to his credit, 
while his hands were clutched upon the throat 
of another.” 

“ That’s why you adore him, isn’t it ? 
Otherwise you would probably never have 
heard of him. That is what makes us live in 
the memories of those who love us — just 
that one little thing, courage ! ” 

No. There is another and greater thing,” 
said Brassid. 

She looked up in her questioning way. 

He smiled affectionately. 

Love,” said Brassid. 

She shook her head : 

“ Courage.” 

“ Love,” he insisted. 

“ Let us put them both together,” she said, 
« courage and love.” 

« Love and courage,” he acquiesced. 

You for love, I for courage.” 

Brassid watched her glowing young face 
and her strong young arms, as they struck 
out, in a new wonder. He had not yet solved 
the lovely Sea-Lady. 


80 


THE SIREN 


She went on with dilated nostrils : 

“ Say, Brassid, that makes me wamt to love 
you. An ancestor like that ! Oh, it beats the 
whaler I That’s why I speak so often of him. 
It needed courage to be a whaler. Brassid, 
you never were so near winning me — isn’t 
that what you men call it? — as right now. 
Go on, Brassid, about your Indian-fighter ! ” 

“ My grandfather probably would have won 
you,” sighed Brassid. 

“ No ; you. You are like him. I knew it 
from the first. Why didn’t you tell me that 
at first? You would do as he did — if there 
were Indians.” 

“ And what would you do ? ” 

“As your grandfather did, Brassid — if 
there were Indians.” 

He retreated a little from her. 

“ Maybe I do lorn love a little, Brassid 
dear; but I adore the courage that dies with, 
out weakening — rather than weaken. I can’t 
help it. It was born in me. I wouldn’t do 
it. And if your grandfather had called for 
help, I should have hated him — ^and you,” 
she laughed. 


THE SIREN 


81 


And, after a silence, she said again, as if 
that was what she had been thinking about ; 

“ Brassid, I love courage more than love.’’ 
And again : 

« Brassid, your name is Courage.” 


VI 


HER ANCESTORS WORE SCALES 

« For immediate evidence of my pusillanim- 
ity,” laughed Brassid, “let us return. We 
have never been half so far as this. And 
while you are a mermaiden, I am only a 
walrus.” 

“ Must we go back ? ” 

“No,” laughed Brassid. 

“ Then let us go on and on and on forever ! 
Brassid, I am mad to-day. That about the 
Indian-fighter did it. And if you knew how 
close — close — you are — why — come ! Out 
there where it sparkles ! It fascinates — calls 
to me. Oh, dear Brassid, perhaps my ances- 
tors did wear scales ! Come ! Out there ask 
for — anything ! ” 

She gave him, there in the water, his first 
caress — only a touch, after all. 

Brassid’s tongue was loosed. He talked on 
almost in strophes. 


82 


THE SIREN 


83 


And she answered presently : 

“ Brassid dear, that sounds like the big love. 
I wouldn’t have any other — if I had to have 
it at all. I wish I did love you. Oh, not so 
much for your sake as mine ! I begin to feel, 
to see, to hear, what it is. Brassid, some day 
I shall demand it.” 

“ And you shall have it.” 

“ But not — now — Brassid dear ! Not — 

to-day ! Please ! ” 

“Look here,” said he, in his ferocity, “you 
do love me — and you are going to marry 
me ! ” 

“ No, no, no ! Brassid, really, I don’t love 
you. Not a bit — yet. It is courage — 
courage. But out here — to-day — Brassid, 
I like you — courage or no courage. I’ll con- 
fess that much — I like you a lot.” Then, 
presently, “ Brassid, do you really think I 
love you ? ” 

He nodded. 

“Why don’t you speak? It is very im- 
polite to nod a reply to such an important — 
question. I can’t — marry — you — away — 
out — here.” 


84 


THE SIKEH 


They faced each other, and knew that they 
were- out of breath. 

«Out there is a bar. I have been watch- 
ing it. We can rest there.” 

But Brassid did not touch her to help. 

Presently they reached it. Neither could 
have gone twenty yards further. Brassid 
turned and looked shoreward. Something 
suddenly gripped his heart. The Crazy-Quilt 
House was a distant blur against the hori- 
zon. There were people on the beach, but 
they were as ants. He kept her face sea- 
ward. A ship, hull down, was sailing from 
them. 

“ And presently, when we are quite rested, 
we shall go home.” 

“ I suppose so,” she said petulantly. « But, 
oh, it has been so lovely to-day ! ” 

“But I am hungry.” 

“Yes. Come.” 

Once more he kept her eyes seaward by 
pointing out that the ship was coming 
about. 

“ Brassid,” she laughed, “ to-morrow we 
shall go out to that ship ! ” 


THE SIREN 


85 


“Yes,” he smiled. 

She had come very close to him. She 
was dancing on her toes upon the bar. 
The tide was running in rapidly. The sun 
was overhead in all its September glory. 
She held by his arms and danced. Her hair 
was confined under a pale-green scarf, save 
where it escaped. Below in the green water 
he could see her loveliness foreshortened. 

“Brassid, you are staring at me. Do you 
see the scales? 

“Why are you so quiet — now? 

“Brassid, I can touch bottom no longer. 
See ! I must be in your arms ! That is 
my only excuse — I am tired. Aha ! ” 

She laughed gloriously. 

“ Brassid — dear — good — luck — to — 
you ! ” she whispered. 

He kissed her. 

“Brassid, what does that mean?” 

“That you are engaged to me — ” 

“ Brassid, I don’t mind being engaged — 
that much — out here — ” 

He kissed her again. 

“Yes,” she said. “But remember that I 


86 


THE SIREN 


do not love you, and that I shall never 
marry you. It 'will be quite different when 
we land. I heard the snuff lady say that 
we must be engaged, or it would be very 
improper to be so much alone — out — here. 
So now you may tell her that — we — are 
engaged — that everything is proper — and 
you needn’t say that it is only a little.” 

She stopped to laugh again. 

“ Oh, Brassid, it is glorious ! And you 
are lovely. And I have everything I want 
now — since we are engaged a little. And 
if I ever marry any one it will be some one 
just like you, who can swim, and has the 
big love — and courage. But I won’t love 
you^ Brassid, I won’t. You should not 
expect tKatP 

‘‘No,” laughed happy Brassid. 

“ Kiss me I ” she commanded. “ And 
laugh ! ” 

Brassid did both. 


VII 


STRANGE THAT LOVE SHOULD MAKE ONE 
AFRAID 

The fierce inrush of a wave swept him 
from his feet. She spun around with a 
little cry. Then she saw what Brassid had 
seen and had kept from her. Fear touched 
the heart w^hich had never feared before. 

“ Brassid,” she whispered, « I did not know 
that we had come so far ! ” 

Brassid tried to laugh. 

‘‘ The tide will help us.” 

« Brassid, you kept me here — you kept 
me from looking — so that I might rest — 
and be — strong ? ” 

“ I kept you here,” said Brassid, « to make 
you mine.” 

“ Brassid,” she whispered, “ why did you 
do so splendid a thing ? Dreadful, too ! I am 
afraid to drown now. I wasn’t before.” 

“ Why are you afraid now ? ” 


87 


88 


THE SIREN 


“ Because then I should never see you 
again. That is what made the little fear 
you saw. It all came in a flash. I know. 
But I am not — afraid — not now.’’ 

<< Not now ! My love ! ” 

But he saw that panic had followed fear, 
that every nerve had slackened, that every 
muscle was unstrung. She swam, panting 
now, — he had never seen her do that, — 
and for a while conquered fear. She kept 
at his side. Now and then she touched 
him, and always she watched him piteously. 

« Brassid — you are stronger — than I 
thought — stronger than I — as a man ought 
to be. I am — glad.” 

‘‘Yes,” gasped Brassid, “I am strong — 
and you are brave — ” 

“ Brassid, I don’t mind being saved by 
you.” 

“ I should think not.” 

“We will not forget the — Indian-flghter — 
Brassid.” 

“ Nor the whaler.” 

“Yes; I want to live — to be — your — 
wife — Brassid.” 


THE SIREN 


89 


“ My wife ! ” 

Then was silence ; nothing but the beating 
of their breath. 

“ Brassid — dear — if we do not — get home 
— stay with me ! I do not want — to — stay 
out here — alone! Oh I Alone! Brassid — 
will you — stay with me — no — matter — no 
matter — ” 

“No matter — what ! ” 

Perhaps it was wrong to say that. But his 
love was what he had called it — the big love. 
She gave up. 

“Then — beloved — if you — will stay — 
with — me — ” 

She could even smile at him. 

“ The Indian-fighter — the whaler ! ” pleaded 
Brassid. 

“ Yes.” 

She responded, and again and again re- 
sponded. But he saw her first stroke fail. 
Each of his own cost what seemed a life. 

“ I am too — tired — Brassid.” 

“ Courage ! ” gasped Brassid. 

“ Yes ; once more. To be your wife ! ” 

They swam silently. 


90 


THE SIREN 


“ Brassid — I am thinking — of all the dear 
things you — said. I didn’t notice some of 
them then. But now — as the drowning do 

— they are all — very — sweet.” 

“You are not drowning,” said Brassid, with 
his last ferocity. 

“ It is so strange — that love — should make 

— one — afraid ! I never was — afraid — un- 
til I loved you — Brassid — Brassid! Until 
I — loved — you ! ” 

Brassid put his arm under her to float her. 
As he did so she sank away from him. 

“ Can’t — Brassid — dear,” she whispered. 
“I — am — too — tired — too — tired — ” 

He saw the dear face with the green water 
between them. The sun made it glorious — 
piteous. 

“ Too late 1 ” said the eyes, as they had said 
it that first night — he could read it now as 
plainly as then. And another smile, as then. 
Her eyes kept upon him. She was quite still. 
Her arms opened to him. They closed about 
him, and once more Brassid followed the lovely 
Sea-Lady to the bottom. 


THE LOADED GUN 



A 


THE LOADED GUN^ 


I 

THREE GENTLEMEN OF PHILADELPHIA 

At three o’clock in the morning, Gast, 
McGill, and Ravant were going down Twen- 
tieth street, in the vicinity of Walnut street. 
They were locked together in the fashion of 
a Roman phalanx. And even then their go- 
ing was unsteady. With the memory of his 
classical studies somewhat revived, Ravant 
repeated Csesar’s commendation of the Roman 
formation. 

A little later, and a little further down the 
street, where lived many of the city’s elect, 
they were protesting in over-vociferous melody 
that they would not go home till morning. 

“Make it midday, for the sake of ver-sim- 
ili-tude,” begged Gast, breathless with the 
word, “ for it is morning now. Behold I ” 

And thereupon he also remembered the in- 
1 Copyright, 1904, by Frank Leslie Publishing House. 

93 


94 


THE LOADED GUN 


vocations to the rising sun, in which the 
ancients abound, and produced one — accord- 
ing to his memory ; 

“ Aurora leaped upon the nether hills 
And flung a kiss to Bacchus — ’twas a day ! ” 

The offlcer on the corner of the square came 
and looked on amicably. 

His applause made McGill realize that the 
voices of his comrades, unlike his own, had 
never excelled in melody. He, therefore, at- 
tached himself to a lamp-post, and, in the 
fashion of a precentor, proposed to instruct 
them in the difficulties of “Annie Laurie.” 

But, in attaching himself to the lamp-post, 
he had detached himself from the critical 
right of the phalanx, which now floundered 
dismally and then incontinently disintegrated. 
The officer of the peace secured Ravant and 
Gast and anchored them to McGill — and 
“ Annie Laurie ” went terribly on. 

It would have been hard enough to endure if 
it had not been mixed with liquors. But since 
it was so mixed it was not wonderful that 
anathema was belched at them from the win- 


THE LOADED GUN 


95 


dows of that halcyon neighborhood, and that 
they were then slammed violently shut. 

But they were hardly prepared for a gun- 
shot in their direction. 

“ That’s right,” complained McGill ; “ if you 
can’t reform ’em, shoot ’em ! ” 

“ Mac, that man’s a pil-os-per,” argued Gast. 
“ For, lo ! these many years the sover-eign 
people have sought a cure for the drink evil. 
Well, he has found it. Shoot ’em. Eh, 
Ravey ? ” 

Ravant said nothing. And now they 
awoke to the understanding that he had 
grown heavy between them. 

A cab passed. The driver, an experienced 
nighthawker, drew up to them. 

“ Right this time,” said Gast. “ This jag is 
going home imperially in a cab. It’ll be about 
all I’ll be able to do to walk my own to my 
happy home.” 

The officer assisted in getting Ravant into 
the cab. 

But suddenly his manner changed to sav- 
agery. They were under the direct light of 
the corner electric. 


96 


THE LOADED GUN 


Which of you did this ? ” he demanded. 

Blood slowly trickled from a wound in 
Ravant’s head. 

Gast had a drunken inspiration. 

« That gun ! ” he whispered. 

The officer caught upon this. 

' Where was it fired from ? ” 

Tnis none of them in the least knew. 

The officer took McGill and Gast to the 
station-house, where they were ignominiously 
searched. Ravant went to the hospital in a 
cab. 

Presently, in a lucid interval, Ravant signed 
an affidavit setting forth that it was neither 
McGill nor Gast who had fired the shot. 
Upon this his two companions were released 
“ under surveillance.” 

And this was so odious to Gast that he 
swore to find out who it was had fired the 
shot. 


II 


AN OUNCE OF WHISKEY OB AN OUNCE OF 
BKAINS 

The moment Ravant awoke to sanity at the 
hospital he demanded a drink of whiskey. 

“The doctor has forbidden it,” said the 
nurse. 

“ Why ? ” shouted Ravant. 

“Your head. He thinks it would take you 
much longer to get well — perhaps prevent 
your recovery altogether.” 

“ Call him ! ” Still in Ravant’s terrible 
voice. “ I guess it’s my own head. And if 
I’d rather have an ounce of whiskey — more 
or less — than an ounce of brains — more or 
less — it’s my business and none of his.” 

The little, frightened nurse did what he 
asked, and Ravant said to the doctor very 
much what he had said to the nurse. And 
the doctor answered him precisely what the 
nurse had answered. 


97 


98 


THE LOADED GUN 


« But,” he laughed in addition, “ your head 
is certainly your own, and 3^011 are certainly 
sane enough to decide what you want done 
with it, though it is rather contrary to Dun- 
glison’s ethics to let you. It doesn’t matter 
greatly either 'way, though. How much are 
you in the habit of taking ? ” 

“ All I can buy,” snarled Ravant. 

The doctor laughed again and wrote a pre- 
scription for an ounce of whiskey. 

“You don’t care whether I live or die, do 
you ? ” asked Ravant, odiously. 

“ Oh, quite as much as you do ! ” answered 
the doctor, with a certain jolly contempt for 
such a man. Then, to the nurse : 

“ I don’t think it will be necessary for me 
to see your patient again. Take care that he 
gets all he needs. My original instructions 
will do till he is discharged.” 

“ You don’t care either,” challenged Ravant, 
when the doctor had gone. 

« Yes — I care — very much,” said the 
brave little nurse. 

Ravant stared, then said : 

“ Well — hurry that whiskey here ! ” 


THE LOADED GUN 


99 


And, presently, she brought it. Havant 
saw only the hand which offered it to his 
famished soul. It trembled. As he took the 
glass he followed the arm up to the nurse’s 
face. That was very pale. When she was 
certain that he would drink it, she gasped 
and then choked down a bit of a sob. 

“ Now, what’s the matter with you ? ” cried 
Havant, with brutal irritation. 

‘‘Noth — nothing,” faltered the nurse. 

“ You lie,” said Havant. “ I told you that 
it is my own head. Why don’t you want me 
to drink it ? ” 

“ Drink it ! ” begged the nurse, now in 
terror of him. “ Please do ! ” 

“ I won’t ! You’re both too dam’ anxious ! ” 
He flung the frail glass against the wall, 
where it was broken. Then he turned his 
back upon the nurse, and, gripping the iron 
rods of his bed, bent them until they doubled 
and parted. He slept a little presently — 
breathing like a wounded beast. When he 
woke the little nurse was wiping up the 
spilled liquor. The terrible fragrance infested 
his very soul. i, OF C. 


100 


THE LOADED GUN 


“ Open the window ! ” Ravant shouted. 
« You are torturing me ! ” 

The girl did this. 

“Why did you make me smell the dam’ 
stuff ? ” 

Then, a little more gently, before she could 
answer : 

“ Thank you. I can’t stand the smell of it 
— not the smell.” 

The nurse laid a brave hand on his.' 

“I guess you’re the right sort,” he said 
hoarsely. “ Put it there ! ” 

He gripped the hand of the nurse as he 
would have done that of a man. 

Afterward Ravant watched the girl as she 
“ went about doing good ” for him — as he 
gibed it. She tried to keep out of his vision. 

“ What in the devil are you about ? ” he 
commanded. “ I want to look at you ! It 
does me good — to look at you ! ” 

She came, with a pink face, where he could 
see her. 

“ If it does you good — why, look at me ! ” 

She tried to do it lightly — pose there — 
but her bosom heaved. Ravant saw this. 



‘7 g-uess you're the right sort,' he said hoarsely. ‘Put it there!' " 





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THE LOADED GUN 


101 


“Yes, I’ve stopped guessing. You a/re the 
right sort — inside. And you’re not half as 
ugly outside as I thought you at first. Or 
else you’ve grown prettier. I think it’s that. 
I suppose they make it a point to hire only 
ugly girls for nurses. Else the patients would 
marry ’em as fast as they could gather ’em 
in, and there would never be any nurses. 
But you’ve fooled ’em ! Look in the 
glass ! ” 

It was useless to resist what had now 
become affectionate brutality, and she did 
this. It was true that there was a glow in 
her hollow cheeks. 

“ Thank you ! ” 

“ By the Lord, you nearly laughed ! ” said 
Ravant, with entire seriousness. “ Say — I’m 
going to like you. And I want you to try to 
like me. If I ever ask for whiskey again, 
don’t you give it to me, no matter if I curse 
you up hill and down dale. And I’ll try not 
to ask for it.” 

The nurse stopped something which would 
have been a sob at maturity. 

“ But for God’s sake, don’t cry,” Ravant 


102 


THE LOADED GUN 


went on. “ I hate women who cry. And 
Pm not hating you — I see that already.’’ 
« I will not cry ! ” pledged the nurse. 

“I believe you,” said Ravant. ««Put it 
there. I won’t drink ! ” 

And for the second time they shook hands. 


Ill 


CALLING A MAN A PIG 

« And yet,” mused Ravant, “ I make you 
cry I ” 

There was an unwonted softness in his voice. 

“ Pm sorry I’m such a brute — I am a 
good deal of a brute — ain’t I ? ” 

When she did not answer he shouted at 
her suddenly : 

“ Ain’t I ? ” 

« Yes,” said the frightened nurse. 

“ And I’m a pig, too. That’s what the 
doctor called me the other day when he left, 
didn’t he ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

« I heard him. And he’s right, too — 
though not so bully as you, at saying it.” 

The doctor is mistaken,” braved the girl. 
“ I wouldn’t say it.” 

Ravant gasped and sat up in bed. 

“ Wliat f ” 




103 


104 


THE LOADED GUN 


The girl repeated, without fear, what she 
had said. 

And nothing had ever cowed Ravant as that 
did. It made him stop and think. It seemed 
as if he had never thought before — so primi- 
tive were his processes. 

“ I’ll just live up to that girl’s estimate of 
me — and fool her. I really thought I was a 
pig. Heavens ! ” He laughed with himself 
as if he were some one else. It didn’t even 
offend me ! But I’m glad I’m not a pig — to 
her — and I’ll stop being a brute. Especially 
to women. What was it mother used to say ? ” 

Finally he remembered it: 

“ Always be gentle to all women. For some 
of them are mothers, and all of them are 
daughters of mothers.” 

He said to himself that he had better ^write 
that out in a plain hand and paste it in his 
hat. Then he said he would go the hat one 
better — he would write it out and paste it in 
his head. 

And I think he did this in some fashion. 
For he often remembered it. And at this time 
it was hard for him to remember things. 


THE LOADED GUN 


105 


“ Please ! ” she begged of him one day with 
her hands out to his, meaning that he should 
intermit his ceaseless watching of her. “I 
feel like the insect under the microscope.” 
She ended with that brief, halfway laugh. 

“ I won’t,” said Ravant. “ It helps me. 
And that is what you are paid for doing.” 

“ Yes,” said the girl, at once relapsing into 
her shell. “ That is what I am paid for ! ” 

“ The only thing you need to be a real 
beauty is a smile. Can’t you get further than 
halfway ? Try it. You won’t break anything. 
Smile for the .drunken pig one of those smiles 
that won’t come off.” 

“ Have you ever smiled ? ” retorted the girk 

“ I grin all day,” answered Ravant. 

« Yes — you grin.” 

Ravant caught the subtlety and was both 
amazed at his nurse and shocked at himself. 
He remembered that it was very long since his 
face had known the smile of gentleness. 

« Let’s learn the art together,” he laughed. 
“ By the Lord, you are good for me ! ” 

“ Then I must admit that you are also good 
for me.” 


106 


THE LOADED GUN 


“ Smile ! ” commanded Ravant. 

« I cannot,” laughed the girl. 

Ravant laughed, and knew how splendid 
and strange this was to him. 

“ If you would do that more often, it would 
be good for you,” said Ravant again. 

“ And you would be — good ! ” 

«Yes — ” agreed the invalid, “if you would 
smile so for me — ” 

“ Oh, I meant your own smile ! ” cried the 
blushing nurse. 

Ravant looked upon this blush until it had 
much the effect that looking upon the wine 
when it is red used to have upon him. 

“ Here ! ” he cried. 

The girl came toward him. He caught her 
face between his hands and rounded it there. 

« I have taken all the lines away. You 
have no business to have them.” 

“ My life — ” said the girl, simply. “ Those 
lines are its history. They belong there.” 

“ Then can you read my history in mine ? ” 
asked the man. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do they say that I am a brute ? ” 


THE LOADED GUN 


107 


“ Yes.” 

“ Plainly ? ” 

« Quite plainly.” 

« My God ! Why did not some one tell 
me that secret before ? We go about thinking 
our faces conceal the very things they shout 
aloud ! ” 

He looked again at her face. 

“ Yes, yours speaks of sorrow — ” 

A silence then — 

<< What was it ? ” 

« Others said what you have just said. 
That I was ugly. A woman has nothing — is 
nothing — without beauty. That is her one 
source of power.” 

Havant laughed incredulously. 

« Women like added the nurse. 


IV 


HE DID NOT KNOW THAT IT WAS LOADED 

One day the nurse told him — as he in- 
sisted — the mystery of his opulent situation. 

The person who had fired the shot had 
learned the effect of it from the newspapers, 
and being rich and sorry, had put his fortime 
at the disposal of the victim, and none of it 
was to be spared if it might help in the least 
to make him perfectly well again. Every cent 
of the very many the person had was at his dis- 
posal. And that his disposal of it might be the 
more free from embarrassment, he preferred to 
remain anonymous himself, and to make the 
hospital, or the nurse herself, if the victim 
preferred that, his almoner. 

« Preferred to remain anonymous ! ” laughed 
Ravant. “He preferred to keep out of jail. 
I’d have him there in no time if I knew who 
he was ! ” 

“ It appears,” said the nurse, “ that he did 
not know his pistol was loaded.” 


108 


THE LOADED GUN 


109 


Ravant exploded again — first with mirth, 
then with vengeance. 

<< The infernal old sneak and liar ! To 
shoot a man simply because he happened to 
be drunk ! Thank God a jag is not capital 
yet ! It is no excuse to say that he didn’t 
know it was loaded. When he took up that 
pistol, it was with intent to kill. And, if I 
still remember any law, that is enough to 
hang him — ” 

“But they don’t hang people,” gasped the 
little nurse, “ for anything but murder, do 
they ? ” 

“ I was going to say if he had hilled meP 
“ Oh ! ” 

“ Anyhow, we’ll make it the dearest lesson 
to the gentlemen who do not know it is 
loaded that ever was taught ! We will spend 
that last cent of his. If not, we’ll throw it 
away ! We are going to Europe at his 
expense. I need that to complete my re- 
covery. And even then I will always wear 
this plate on my head in memory of him I 
And we’ll let the newspapers have it. It 
may prevent some other drunkard from such 


110 


THE LOADED GUN 


happiness as I am now enjoying, and teach 
the idiot with an empty gun to respect it as 
if it were loaded. I’ll be a missionary to 
my drunken kind all the world over ! What 
do you say ? By the way, what is your 
name ? ” 

« Brown,” said the nurse. 

“ Whew ! ” said the invalid. « We can’t 
change that — can we ? ” 

« No.” 

“ Marriage would do it.” 

« Yes.” 

« Havant is better than Brown, eh ? ” 

But then he laughed — he had frightened 
her ! 

“ What’s your first name ? ” 

“ Rachel. ” 

“ Heavens ! But we might call you Ray. 
Ray Brown is not impossible. Did you notice 
that when I spoke of going to Europe and 
spending the old man’s money, I said we f ” 

“ Yes,” said the girl. 

“ And it didn’t appeal to you ? — make 
your little heart flutter — Ray ? ” 

« No.” 


THE LOADED GUN 


111 


“ But you would help to try to ruin the old 
man ? ” 

“ I think it just for you to punish him in 
that way — but I am only a nurse.” 

“Well — you are going with me — and 
that is the end of it. I need you and shall 
need you for a long time. In fact, I shall 
need you always. But, since you won’t marry 
me, as a nurse you will go I ” 

“ Impossible ! Mr. Ravant ! ” gasped the 
girl. 

“ Which ? ” snarled Ravant, in the old man- 
ner. 

“Going to Europe with you — as your 
nurse — alone — ” 

“Well, then, we’ll take a chaperon. The 
old man must pay for her too.” 

The girl was silent. 

“ Look here. I noticed that you didn’t say 
that the other thing was — impossible ! Mar- 
rying me ? ” 

«Yes — that is impossible, too,” said the 
girl. 

“ Oh ! ” 

“ What ? ” 


112 


THE LOADED GUN 


For his tone was sinister. 

“ ril become a sot again.” 

« The doctor says that with that wound in 
your head it will kill you I ” 

Rava,nt laughed — the brutal laugh once 
more. 

“Well, let it. You can’t open the gate of 
paradise and let me get one glimpse and then 
shut it in my face. I’ll go back to my own 
little paradise.” 

He was laughing. But she caught the note 
of hopelessness under it. 

“Do you mean to say that if I marry 
you — ” 

“ I will be good.” 

“ Understand that I do not love you ! Not 
at all ! ” 

“No one does. Marry me anyhow. Marry 
me to get rid of me. If you fall in love with 
some one else, it is off.” 

The girl sobbed. She was on her knees at 
his bed. He did not like this. 

“ Never mind — never mind — child. I 
only thought we could make it less expensive 
to the old man in that way. I could then 


THE LOADED GUN 


113 


stop your wages, and we would not need a 
chaperon. And I really fancied that this 
thing inside of me which yearns for you — 
can’t wait till the night is over and you and 
morning come — is love. But I don’t know 
what the thing is — I never had the symptoms 
before — speak to the doctor about it — tell 
him I have ceased to be a pig. But, perhaps 
you know. Do you? Were you ever in 
love ? ” 

« No, sir,” answered the nurse. 

« Stop crying ! ” thundered Havant. 

«Yes, sir,” said the little nurse. 


V 


A FOOL AND HIS MONEY 

“ Well, thank God,” Ravant said, later on, 
<< that you didn’t refuse me because you didn’t 
know me. I can’t fancy a better way of 
finding a man out than being his nurse. But 
I may not always be a brute. So, remember 
that I want to marry you, and, when you 
don’t think me too much of a brute think 
sometimes about marrying me — you may get 
used to it ! ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the nurse. 

How much money have I ? ” 

<< About four dollars, sir.” 

« I don’t blame you now. I thought there 
was at least ten in my clothes. Four dollars 
is mighty little to begin housekeeping upon. 
Keep it for me, will you, until the last cent 
of the gentleman who did not know it was 
loaded is gone.” 

Later : 

« You might as well come and help to spend 
the old man’s money. We will travel in 


114 


THE LOADED GUN 


115 


private cars. Two maids for you, two valets 
for me. Our pictures in the newspapers. A 
retinue to smile welcome to us at each city. 
Another to weep as we depart. We shall 
leave a trail of American gold in our wake 
across Europe ! ’’ 

He had caught her interest. Only he 
thought it was something which she said it 
was not. 

“Look here. You do like me a little. I 
have seen you watch me while I pretended 
to sleep. And I’ll try to learn what love is 
and to make you love me. I think I can.” 

The girl looked down. 

“Look here, I was a gentleman and a 
lawyer before I was a drunkard, and I can be 
again, if any one cares to have me be. Please 
marry me ! ” 

“ I don’t love you,” said the girl again, with 
her head still down. 

“ I know. But I love you — I’m sure now 
that that is what it is. You see, it’s one of 
two things for me — you or rum. That’s why 
I’m working at it overtime. You won’t regret 
it — hanged if you do.” 


VI 


THE OLD man’s LAST CENT 

Well, she did marry him, and she did not 
regret it — nor did he. 

To me it is a wonder that she did not. For 
he had done the threatened newspapering so 
well that already upon their arrival at the 
steamer all the passengers were lined up to 
await them. And the smile they got there 
followed them to Europe, and into the most 
remote corners of the globe where they pene- 
trated to escape it. It became at last a smile 
of contempt. And he began to understand 
that it was for him alone and that the world 
had exempted his wife from it. 

« I’m glad for that,” he told her. « If I am 
to go about the world a cad and a fool, to be 
laughed at — I am glad that you are — ” 

“ To be pitied as your victim ? ” laughed 
his happy wife. «No. I don’t want any- 
thing that is not yours, and you shall have 
nothing that is not mine.” 


116 


THE LOADED GUN 


117 


If they escaped it for a day, they never did 
for two. Always the servants were in line 
where they arrived, with the expectation of 
them in their banal faces. But always she 
was excepted. 

“ I wish I could rise with you,” sighed 
Ravant, whimsically. “ I hate to be separated 
from you. But they won’t have me, and 
they won’t do without you. I suppose my 
claws still show somewhere.” 

« Whither I go, you shall go,” his wife 
threatened. “ I am too happy — that is what 
the world sees. What care I — for anything 
but joy and you I ” 

She kissed Ravant. 

But presently her “beauty” and her “mag- 
netism ” began to be paragraphic with him in 
the newspapers — of which he said he was 
glad, and was not. 

“ Beloved,” he told her, “ it is a pity -you 
married me.” 

“ Why ? — beloved also.” 

“ Because you might have had any one of 
the effete noblemen of Europe, and escaped 
newspapering.” 


118 


THE LOADED GUN 


“ But I would only have been satisfied with 
a crowned head.” 

“I suppose even that is possible to the 
‘ prevalent goddess ’ ” — he was reading from 
a newspaper. 

« I have it ! ” laughed his wife, touching the 
plate which covered his wound. 

And then, I am almost sorry to say, yet 
not quite, that a little mist came into the eyes 
of the Ravant who had once been a brute, 
and he remembered all those hospital days. 

“ How splendid you have become,” he said. 

“ Thanks to you,” she whispered in his 
arms, where still he was the savage Ravant 
and always would be. 

“ But all I am you have made of me ! ” 

“ But, too, all I am you have made of me ! ” 
she laughed. 

“One thing I take credit for,” he joyed 
with her, “ smiles do become your face.” 

“And thought and care yours. The lines 
of which we once spoke — are gone! From 
both our faces ! Is not that wonderful ? ” 

“ Wonderful,” he agreed. 

Suddenly she was serious. 


THE LOADED GUN 


119 


I think we belong together. I thank God 
always that we met. You were what I needed 
— the man God meant to complete me. Be- 
fore you came I was worse than you were 
before I came. Thank God we met — no 
matter how ! ” 

“ Not forgetting to thank the loaded gun ! 
For a long time I have been sorry for the old 
man. It has not seemed long — but there 
are indications that the last cent has been 
reached. I would pay him back if I could ! ” 

“ You never, never could ! ’’ laughed his wife. 

“ But how much do you suppose we have 
spent ? ” 

« Don’t know ! Don’t know,” she chanted. 
“That is the beauty of it. We don’t have 
to ! No accounts to keep ! Money carefully 
ahead of us at each stopping place ! It is like 
a slot machine ! You put in a nickel and get 
a thousand dollars ! ” 

“ It’s wonderful how well he has done it. 
Hasn’t kicked or funked once ! Well, when 
I get back to America I mean to hunt him 
up and get down on my knees and God-bless 
him ! ” laughed Ravant. 


120 


THE LOADED GUN 


“ We’ll go together ! ” said his wife. 

« Yes ! And confess all ! I’ll show him you ! 
He’ll forgive us then and won’t regret — ” 

“ His poverty ! ” laughed Ravant’s happy 
wife. 

« Yes. Hang it ! That’s the horror of it. 
Once I thought it would be the joy of it! 
And how he must have writhed under the 
newspapering ! Such a sensitive chap as he 
is ! It has been torture to even me. But I 
deserve that punishment.” 

“You do ! ” cooed his wife. 

“ Let us go home,” said Ravant, “ and live 
in a little house — alone ! ” 

“ Done ! ” cried his wife. 

“We’ll change our names and the news- 
papers will not be able to find us ! ” 

“ Done ! ” 

« But — there wasn’t any money here, you 
know ” (it was Rouen). 

“ Perhaps in a day or two.” 

So, at Rouen, they waited for the money to 
take them home to a new happiness. 


VII 


HER BIG TRUMP 

One day she got a big letter with the 
American postmark. She laughed, made a 
certain mystery of it, and kept it from him. 

“ And this is my nurse I ” he joyed. 

« Yes ! ” she admitted. 

He was opening a letter of his own which 
he was keeping from her. 

« But there must be no secrets between 
chums.’’ 

She tried to take the letter, but he with- 
held it. 

“Ah, I must first confess? Well — how 
much do you love me ? ” 

“As much as I can,” said her husband, 
seriously. 

“I know that to be a great deal. How 
much can you forgive?” 

Now she was in his arms. 

“ As much as I love,” said Ravant. 


121 


122 


THE LOADED GUN 


“ Then I am quite safe.” 

She crept a little deeper into his arms and 
opened her letter. 

« Dearest, I married you under an assumed 
name.” 

« Thank God ! ” laughed Ravant — “ unless 
it is a worse one than Brown.” 

“ I could have been very happy as Mrs. 
Brown — as happy as I am as Mrs. Ravant.” 

She ignored the rest and withdrew the con- 
tents of the letter. They appeared to be a 
deed. 

Dearesty I have a house. Are you angry 
that I am so rich? Part of an inheritance. 
But now it must be sold. This is from my 
lawyer. He tells me that I must sign the 
deed both with my proper maiden name and 
as your wife ” — she stooped there to kiss 
him, and repeated the word — “ and you 
must join in it as my husband. It is a bore 
to own a house, isn’t it, dearest ? ” 

But her lightness found him full of terror. 
She heard him breathe : 

“ What was your maiden name ? ” 

“ Ruth Fenton,” smiled his wife. 


THE LOADED GUN 


123 


Again that exclamation. 

“ What is it ? ” she begged. 

“ No,” he said. There must be no secret 
between chums. My punishment has come. 
And it is greater than I could possibly have 
conceived. I must read you this, and then if 
you wish — go away from you.” 

“ Not while I am here,” she laughed, begin- 
ning to understand. “Whither thou goest, I 
will go. You can’t — cannot lose me — me, 
your lawful wife ! ” 

Though she laughed with tremendous hap- 
piness, he read the letter through with no 
abatement of his terror. 

“ As you know, I have been all these two 
years finding the person who shot you. At 
last I have her — yes, her ! It is a woman. 
Her name is Ruth Fenton. Her large fortune 
has been exhausted by your world-renowned 
extravagances, and she is now selling the last 
thing she owns — her house. I hope you feel 
as mean as I do — for you ! Gast.” 

“ Yes, I am the old man,” laughed Havant’s 
happy wife into her husband’s face. 


124 


THE LOADED GUN 


« Yes,” he said, and then again, <‘yes — you 

are — the — old — man ! The old man ! 

You ! Me ! ” 

« / ” cooed his wife. 

«A11 those things I said about him were 
about you I To you ! ” 

« Yes ! Wasn’t it funny ? ” 

A long time they sat there, she looking up, 
he down — eye to eye. But she never ceased 
to smile. 

He tried to go. 

« Not while I am here ! ” she laughed, and, 
slipping down, held him by the knees. 

«No, beloved, after this there shall be, in- 
deed, no secrets between us. I was so un- 
happy and alone that night that I meant to 
kill myself. No one cared for me, and I had to 
have some one care for me or die ! My hand 
must have slipped, or, perhaps, I grew afraid. 
But God himself directed that bullet ! You 
were mine and you were passing — going away 
from me ! If you had gone on, we would 
never have met. It was the only way to stop 
you and give you to me, me to you. I went to 
the hospital and paid to nurse you. They said 


THE LOADED GUN 


125 


you needed no nursing, only care and quiet. 
And when they knew how important it was 
to me, for I told them all, they broke their rules 
all to pieces, and let me do it. And, now, dear 
one, you must keep what I have given you, 
what the good God has ! You shall keep it ! ” 
(as he tried to dislodge her) “and you shall 
keep me ! For I will not go ! There, I am a 
beggar ! ” She laughed gloriously. “ But the 
happiest beggar on earth, and you have got to 
support your happy beggar wife forever here- 
after. That is to be your punishment.” 

“ Happy punishment ! ” was the thought 
which flashed through Ravant. 

But he grimly put it out, and for one more 
last moment the old, brutal Ravant tried to 
come back. Alas ! she was on the floor there 
before him, her elbows on his knees, her face, 
halting between smiles and tears, upraised to 
his, looking out of its glory of living hair, 
watching the portents there. 

And when they did not develop fast enough 
toward joy, she locked her hands behind his 
neck suddenly and drew his head down, to 
the peril of a dislocation. 


126 


THE LOADED GUN 


« You must stay to support your beggar wife ; 
don’t you see ? — wonH you understand ? — 
and perhaps her beggar — child ! ” 

What ! ” cried Ravant, everything else out 
of his head in an instant. 

“ I always keep my biggest trump for the 
last, dearest. All women do, don’t they ? 
It’s so lovely to play it then — when every 
one thinks all is lost. Oh, beloved ! smile, 
laugh, shout with me ! How can you go avray 
now when you have a beggar wife to support, 
and a beggar — ch — ! Ah ! ha ! ha ! ” 

How could the old, brutal Ravant come 
back? He never did. How could he go? 
He did not. 

But we will not sell your house. We will 
go back, even if it must be in the steerage, 
and work together^ live together^ happily ever 
after ! ” 

“ Dominus vobiscum!” cried Ravant’s happy 
wife, leaping into his arms. 

And all this, save the steerage, they did. 
And at this very moment they are living as 
happily as they planned. 





** She was on the floor there before him, her face upraised to his’’ 



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LIEBEREICH 


A 


LIEBEEEICHi 


I 

THE HOUSE THAT HE AND EMMY BUILT 

“He’d be better off,” said Mrs. Schwalm, 
referring to the possible death of old Liebe- 
reich. 

“ You don’t mean you’d be ? ” grinned Her- 
mann Schlimm. 

He had drifted into Mrs. Krantz’s kitchen, 
among the women, after the funeral. No one 
gave him any attention. 

Old Liebereich’s wife had just been buried, 
and they were met to pay Mrs. Krantz their 
respects. She had been the “ next-door neigh- 
bor” through Mrs. Liebereich’s illness. 

There was some strawberry preserve pres- 
ently, and some “field tea.” 

Then Mrs. Krantz said to Mrs. Schwalm : 

“ You had better go now.” 

Mrs. Schwalm was “next door” on the 

1 Copyriglitj> 1904, by The Century Co. 

K 129 


130 


LIEBEREICH 


other side. She would now housekeep for old 
Liebereich for a week. Then Mrs. Engwein, 
who lived next to Mrs. Krantz, would take 
her turn, and so on while old Liebereich lived 
— which it was thought would not be long. 
For no one ever went to « the poor-house ” or 
“ the home ” from this German vicinage. 

These things were so well understood that 
they were not even discussed at this gather- 
ing. But there was a well-defined under- 
standing that the brief management of old 
Liebereich would be difficult. Mrs. Schwalm 
rose to go. 

«He won’t fold his britches unless you 
make him,” warned Mrs. Krantz. 

« And I’ve beared,” said another, ‘‘ that he 
never hangs ’em on the back of a cheer if he 
kin put ’em on the floor.” 

Old Liebereich had an odious reputation for 
this sort of thing. 

“You know Emmy she spoiled him.” 

“ If he didn’t do things, she done ’em.” 

“ That’s a good way to spoil ’em ! ” 

Mrs. Krantz warned again : 

« You got to keep the clock on him all the 


LIEBEREICH 


131 


time, or it’s no use. At six he’s got to eat 
his supper. You’ll have to push him right 
in his cheer, and see that he gits things in his 
mouth. If you don’t, you’ll have to clean 
’em off the floor. Seven, to bed with him. 
Yisterday he says to me, says he : ‘ I ain’t no 
dog-gone baby I Lemme alone ! I kin git to 
bed myself.’ But I had him asleep by that 
time.” 

Mrs. Schwalm sighed. It was plain that 
she was going to a house of trouble. But 
it was her duty, and she would do it, as they 
all would. 

I do not know at what point, precisely, 
along the pike, east and west from old Lie- 
bereich, the “next-door neighbor” obligation 
ceased. It was very far. Nevertheless, before 
the year which succeeded the death of his 
wife had passed, its courtesies had been ex- 
hausted. Each neighbor had served two 
turns, and each had murmured dismally at 
the prospect of a third. Finally, they all 
joined in discussing out-and-out rebellion 
against custom and Liebereich. 

Indeed, one morning the doctor, whose 


132 


LIEBEREICH 


business it was to keep the people up to their 
duties, found an interregnum. He brought 
Mrs. Krantz from her house to old Liebe- 
reich’s as one does a detected criminal. 

“ Pve had three turns a’ready,” she de- 
fended. 

« The man has had no breakfast,” said the 
doctor. “ He must eat while he lives ! ” 

« Well, he’d be better off, and so would we, 
if he was — ” 

The doctor stopped her with a solemn up- 
lifted finger: 

Verily I say unto you. Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of the least of these my 
brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ ” 

She thought it made no difference that she 
gave grudgingly. But old Liebereich felt the 
touch of impatience. And he saw that she 
swept the dirt into a corner, stood the broom 
where it did not belong, and left the stale 
water in his pitcher. 

“ You git out ! ” he quavered senilely. “ I 
kin housekeep for myself ! ” 

“Git your other leg in your britches, or 
I’ll — ” 


LIEBEREIOH 


133 


He did it so suddenly, in his fright, that 
Mrs. Krantz’s humor returned, and she 
laughed. She was dressing him. He broke 
out afresh at this evidence of safety: 

“ I built this here house before I was 
twenty-one or you was born — I did. My 
mother she says, says she : ‘ Bill, soon it will 
be a man in the house. Don’t you think 
you’d better git the house ? You and Emmy’s 
mighty thick.’ I took the hint. And, on the 
morning I got twenty-one, here I was ! And, 
begosh, there ” — he pointed to the other side 
of the fireplace — “ was Emmy ! She and me 
done it all — together. She drawed the plan. 
You see them bricks that ain’t the right color? 
Emmy laid ’em ! Yessir ! With her little 
hands — and a trowel — and mortar! They 
are all right except the color. I says, says 
I, ‘ Take ’em right out ! ’ But she threw the 
mortar on me, and it went in my hair and 
eyes, and she had to wash it out — that’s why 
they was never changed. And I’m glad they 
wasn’t. Whenever I look at ’em — one of 
’em’s a little loose — I kin see my Emmy 
laying ’em ! Well, you never see nothing as 


134 


LIEBEREICH 


nice, I’ll bet you, as Emmy laying bricks! 
Old Gaertner made the bricks — out there 
where the boys swim now. That was all 
clay once. None of the ground clods like you 
git in bricks nowadays ! It’s too long for 
you to remember, I expect. You not more’n 
sixty-five or so.” Then his mind fiew back 
to the cause of his rebellion, and he was all 
the more angry that he had forgotten it in 
thinking of Emmy. “ And now you want to 
boss me ! I won’t stand it. Git out ! You’re 
just a spring chicken.” 

“ You shut up ! ” cried Mrs. Krantz. 

At this anathema he gasped in fresh 
fear. 

“ Betsy,” he said humbly when he could 
speak, “ you’re too young to talk to me like 
that ! ” 

‘‘ I’m going on seventy ! ” snapped Mrs. 
Krantz ; which boast was untrue. 

« So ? ” 

Old Liebereich caught the insincerity and 
turned to inspect her. 

« ’Tain’t so ! ” he said, with old-fashioned 
passion against a lie. You think you kin 


LIEBEREICH 


135 


shut me up that-a-way and Pll go to bed 
easy ! You git right out ! ” 

“ If you don’t take keer I will ! ” cried the 
exasperated housekeeper. “ Let’s see what 
the Lord says ! ” 

She closed her eyes and put a finger on 
a text of the Bible which lay open there, 
meaning, if it were favorable, to take him at 
his word and leave the consequences to 
heaven. 

But what she read was : 

Verily I say unto you. Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of the least of these 
my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” 


II 


EMMY AND HE WERE NEVER APART 

When seven o’clock came, old Liebereich, 
unrebuked, still reviled her and her house- 
keeping. For the Scriptures had spoken and 
the woman knew her duty. She did it. 
And not a word delayed or hastened by an 
instant old Liebereich’s relentless progress to 
bed. 

Even when he was there he said : 

“ You can’t keep no house ! My Emmy kin 
beat you all ! Look at that ! ” 

It was an andiron which had become dull. 

“When my Emmy gits back you kin go 
to grass ! ” 

But the last word was mumbled in the 
delicious sleep Mrs. Krantz had brought him. 

Then Mrs. Krantz humbly polished the 
dulled andiron, cleaned the dirt out of the 
corners, restored the broom to its rightful 


136 


LIEBEREICH 


137 


corner, folded old Liebereich’s trousers and 
hung them over the back of a chair, lighted 
the lamp, shaded it, looked again at that 
scriptural text, as if to ask whether every 
cross had been borne, then went out, to return 
at five in the morning. For old Liebereich 
was permitted to sleep late. He was no 
trouble when he slept. 

Now, while old Liebereich sleeps, I shall tell 
you some things you ought to know. In the 
idiom of the vicinage he was considered 
“ funny,” which means only queer. Happi- 
ness had made him so, they said. His most 
constant and odious boast was that he had 
loved his wife for eighty years. It began, he 
said, when he was four and she was born. 

And old Liebereich did not know that she 
was dead. Something had dulled his facul- 
ties when they told him she would die, and 
now he believed (as they told him, so that 
he would not ‘‘bother” them) that she was 
at her sister’s in Maryland to get well, and 
would be home soon. So the curious jerk of 
his head toward the door by the fireplace 


138 


LIEBEKEICH 


meant only that he was vigilant for his 
wife’s return. The neighbors thought it part 
of his aberration. 

But even the little intelligence he retained 
made out this return to have been logically 
too long delayed. It was no longer “very 
soon,” as they had at first told him; it was 
scarcely “ soon,” as they had at last told 
him. 

And Christmas was coming ! 

“ Do you think she will be here for Christ- 
mas ? ” he asked each one of them. 

They assured him of this. 

“ Then I’ll hang up the old stockings and 
su’prise her ! ” 

Here, again, I must explain that they had 
always cherished the element of surprise in 
their Christmas giving. 

You will have seen that old Liebereich 
was living too long for his neighbors. I must 
be careful how I put their sentiments into 
words, so that no injustice be done them. I 
think I had better say that it began to seem 
to them like effrontery for him to live on. 


LIEBEREICH 


139 


They said oftener now and with greater 
unction that he would be better off. And 
they answered Hermann Schlimm’s query (in 
the second paragraph of this story), when he 
repeated it, with accumulating anger now. 

But you are not to suppose that old Lie- 
bereich was made unhappy by the least 
knowledge of this. On the contrary, nothing 
of it reached him. He found another reason 
for their brusqueness. They were simply 
women — and unlike Emmy. 

One day, Mrs. Schwalm, wearily respond- 
ing to his questions about his wife, asked him 
why he did not write to her. This at least, she 
thought cunningly, would consume time, keep 
him quiet, and give death added opportunity. 

Now, in all his thoughts there had never 
been that one. 

‘‘ Why, you see,” he said, “ Emmy and me 
was never apart for a day. It was no need 
to write. And,” he went on, I ain’t no 
scholar. But — say — you got any ink?” 

The letter was a secret office which he 
attended to himself. It took many days. 
But he was very happy afterward, and deliv- 


140 


LIEBEREICH 


ered it to Mrs. Schwalm and Mrs. Krantz, 
who were to get a stamp and mail it. 

« What we going to do with it ? whis- 
pered Mrs. Schwalm. “ Burn it ? ” 

“ No. Open it.” 

However, Mrs. Schwalm, who was known 
to be sentimental, opposed this. 

“ But it’s got to be answered.” 

This was so. Mrs. Krantz cumulated her 
arguments. 

“He’ll ask for the answer a dozen times a 
day till you’re crazy ! ” 

“ Well, anyhow, let’s wait a little. He may 
die any day,” was the way Mrs. Schwalm tem- 
porized. 

“You’re interfering with the Lord’s busi- 
ness I ” chided the curious Mrs. Krantz, finally. 


Ill 


« VERGISSNICHTMEIN ” 

So, while they went away with this letter 
which was never to be mailed, old Liebereich 
sat by the fire in the fireplace which he had 
built, and rocked gently, and sang old Ger- 
man songs, and would not go to bed, but fell 
asleep there. And even in his sleep he was 
found singing : 

Blau ist ein Bliimlein 

Das heiszt Vergissnichtmein — ” 

None of us will ever agree with those old 
German wives, I think. How could old Lie- 
bereich ever be better off — how could any 
one — than singing old German songs by the 
fire and waiting for the coming of his wife — 
and Christmas? 

And he got an answer to his letter. It told 
him very briefiy not to worry, that she would 
be home at Christmas. It was signed “ Emmy.” 

For the wives had said among themselves 


141 


142 


LIEBEREICH 


that God would understand. Just as if they 
understood God ! If He should take him, all 
would be well. If not, He would find a 
way. 

It was because they thought God would 
understand that they had opened that pitiful 
letter of old Liebereich’s. He spoke of his 
loneliness ; how he had waited for her with- 
out complaint ; how, now, he could wait no 
longer. At the end he told her, with the im- 
periousness of a husband, that she must come 
home. They read this; they saw the child- 
ish blots; they knew where his half-palsied 
hands had missed the line, then recovered it ; 
finally they read the boyish signature — with 
dry eyes. 

Then they wrote that reply. 

I hope that neither you nor I could have 
done this — with dry eyes. 

But the night before Christmas arrived, and 
old Liebereich’s wife had not come. Never- 
theless, he had no doubt. No one had ever 
lied to him except Mrs. Krantz. And he had 
never lied. And here was her letter. There 
was her name. 


LIEBEREICH 


143 


They came in and found him reading the 
letter. 

“ My Emmy never fooled me yit,” he told 
them exultingly. “She’ll come. Only she’s 
late a little.” 

He put the letter in their eyes. 

“Don’t it say she’ll be home at Christ- 
mas ? ” 

And I hope that neither you nor I have 
ever had that happen to us — such a letter 
thrust into our eyes ! 

When they whispered among themselves 
he grew cunning, and pretended to sing, while 
he listened. What he heard made him think 
that she was already come, but was in hiding 
to surprise him. Something was to happen 
the moment he went to sleep. And he fan- 
cied that they meant to bring her in at that 
moment. Well, he liked that. No surprise 
he had ever planned himself was quite so fine. 
Emmy was to be his Christmas gift ! 

But what they had spoken about was the 
paleness of his old face, and how he had re- 
cently “ failed.” For he could not sleep now, 
or eat, for watching and waiting. 


144 


LIEBEREICH 


And old Liebereich carried his cunning on 
to a desperate end. He pretended to be pro- 
digiously sleepy. Yet, when they would have 
hustled him off to bed, he suddenly and sav- 
agely rebelled, stamped his feet, and put them 
■ out of the house, in a specious fury they could 
not withstand. 

“I kin put myself to bed,” he cried hap- 
pily after them. « I ain’t no dog-gone baby. 
I won’t be bossed in my own house ! ” 

But the moment he had closed the door 
upon them he laughed. 

And when he pulled down the blinds he 
did not know that he shut out their peep- 
ing eyes. 

It all had made him tired. 


IV 


THE NIGHT-SHIRT WITH THE FEATHER-STITCH- 
ING OF BLUE 

He unlocked the door by the fireplace, pres- 
ently, and lighted two new candles. Then he 
got from the bottom drawer the night-shirt 
with the blue feather-stitching about the col- 
lar, and put it on. His trousers lay on the 
fioor. 

“ Now,” he laughed defiantly, “ what will 
Mrs. Schwalm say ? Let her say it ! ” 

For you must know that such things as 
this adorned night-shirt had been banished to 
the bottom drawer, since his commandeering, 
as far too frivolous for his years. You will 
also observe that old Liebereich expected Mrs. 
Schwalm to see him in this garment and to 
rebuke him. But it was about this that he 
was so very reckless. For at the moment of 
its discovery his wife would have arrived, and 
then, in his own words, they might all go to 
grass ! 


146 


146 


LIEBEREICH 


But this obliges me to speak of old Liebe- 
reich’s cunning plan, or, which perhaps is 
better, to let him tell it for you as he now 
told it to himself in the kitchen of the house 
he and Emmy had built. 

‘‘ They’ll bring her in that door by the fire- 
place, all dressed for Christmas. And they’ll 
all be crowding in behind her to see what I’ll 
do. Well, they’ll see ! Oh, they’ll see ! I 
wish it would be early morning and the sun 
come through the door. I expect I kin wait 
that much longer. And mebby the bells’ll 
ring. They’ll sneak her right up to my bed, 
and then they’ll holler, « Merry Christmas, 
Liebereich ! Wake up ! ’ 

“ But I’ll fool ’em. I’ll hug Emmy right 
afore ’em all, and let ’em know that I’ve 
fooled ’em ! And I’ll laugh at Mrs. Schwalm. 
So will Emmy. And after that — ” Now 
what could there be after that? “After that 
we’ll just be happy. That’s all.” 

Meanwhile he tidied the room as it had 
never been tidied before, and then fixed his 
thick white hair about his face in the fashion 
which Emmy liked. 


LIEBEREICH 


147 


At last he held up both candles and looked 
at himself in the mirror, and there were pink 
spots on his cheek-bones, and the bit of blue 
about his neck went very well with his faded 
eyes. Old Liebereich wagged his head with 
the satisfaction of a dandy at what he 
saw. 

Suddenly he started away from the mirror, 
then back to it. Then he laughed. 

“ I thought it was you, Emmy. And you 
looked like that first day when you saw your 
face in it. Sixteen. I wouldn’t like you to 
come back looking sixteen, and me eighty- 
four. No, I ain’t quite ready for you yit, 
Emmy ; I must get clean sheets. But we 
ain’t far apart now no more ! ” 

He went close to the mirror to whisper 
this. He still was not sure that he did not 
see her there. 

And I hope that you and I have “seen 
things” in the mirror, though perhaps we 
are not eighty-four and have no Emmy. 

Then he went on getting ready for her till 
he was very tired — more tired, he thought, 
than he had ever been. 


148 


LIEBEREICH 


Outside Mrs. Schwalm was whispering to 
Mrs. Krantz : 

“No, they ain’t far apart! He’s mighty 
funny to-night. He is seeing things.” 

At last he was ready to hang up their stock- 
ings on the brass nails which had been put 
into the mantel for this purpose when the 
house was built. 

And, for something to surprise her, he took 
from behind that loose brick a gold coin. It 
had the date of 1825 on it. There was a hole 
in it, and through the hole a narrow blue 
ribbon. 

But now he stopped and his heart heaved. 

“ It was to cut the baby’s teeth on.” 

After a while : 

“We was going to call him Billy if he was 
a boy — Emmy if she was a girl.” 

Again : 

“ But there never was no baby.” 

And then, at last : 

“ But there never was no baby.” 

He put the coin in the toe of Emmy’s stock- 
ing and went to bed and closed his eyes — to 
watch. And his last words were : 


LIEBEREICH 


149 


« Tired — tired — tired — Emmy ! ” 

He dozed and made himself wake so often, 
and nothing had happened, that he grew afraid 
and much more tired. And the red went out 
of his cheeks, and he could feel his face be- 
coming very cold. 

He dozed a long time, at last without waking. 

Then they outside, seeing this, came in — all 
those neighbors — stealthily, whispering and 
going toward his bed. Some one brought a 
candle and held it so close to his eyes that it 
scorched and tortured him. He woke ; he 
was tremendously terrified by their stealth, 
but he did not understand at all — he who 
had never had such thoughts as theirs. 

They did not know that he was awake. 

“ He is better off,” said one of them. 

“ He died easy,” said another. 

Then, suddenly, old Liebereich understood. 
He did not quiver. But his heart was 
bursting. 

“I don’t know about that,” said a wary 
one. 

Some one took Liebereich’s hand from under 
the covers. 


150 


LIEBEREICH 


«’Sh! He’s only asleep,” the voice whis- 
pered. 

Another sighed a disappointment. 

“Touch his feet,” said one. 

This was done, and the same verdict 
reached. He was not yet dead. 

“ He still thinks she’ll come ! ” 

There was a laugh somewhere. 

“ Look at the night-shirt ! ” 

“ How long is she dead now ? ” 

They left him then, and he could breathe 
a moment. They put into his stocking some 
things they had brought — simple things — 
at the last a spiral of pink-and-white candy. 

But there was no laughter — only silence. 
Once more they were doing their duty. And 
once more — for only the second sad time in 
his long life — old Liebereich understood. 

“ It ain’t much,” said a pitying one. 

“ It’s enough,” said another, crossly. 

The last one said — to comfort both: 

“ He’ll never know no better.” 

Then they came and looked at him again. 

« Yes — only asleep.” 

Another voice said ; 


LIEBEREICH 


151 


“ In the morning, I expect. Often they sleep 
away.” 

A doubting young woman said : 

“ Mebby it just happened now and he ain’t 
cold yet.” 

But her elders, who had seen death often, 
only frowned. 

Then they went out. 

Old Liebereich lay very still. He was icy 
cold. The feet and hands they had touched 
would not get warm. He felt yet their cold 
touch. Two tears stole down his cheeks. 
His heart was still filled to bursting. Yet he 
lay quite still. Presently something like con- 
tent came and stayed, and smoothed the sor- 
row from his face, and made it beautiful. 


V 


THE SECOND OPENING OF THE DOOR 

Then, without the least warning, the door 
opened again, directly in his eyes, and every- 
thing was quite as he had fancied it. Like a 
picture in its frame, there stood his wife dressed 
for Christmas. And she was well and happy 
— by the smiles on her face. And the morning 
had come, as he had wished ; for, as the door 
opened, the sun behind her smote away the 
darkness, and it seemed as if she had come 
down to him on those sheaves of glittering 
javelins. And yes, closely crowding behind 
her, came the very people he knew would 
come, filling all the door and making a back- 
ground for his picture. Such a background ! 
He forgave them all at once. For he must 
have dreamed those other, sadder things. 
And, more, — and better still, — the bells of 
the little town were jangling out their 
Christmas madrigal. (You know how dear 
the bells are to Germans !) 

162 



‘'Like a picture in its frame, there stood his wife" 




LIEBEREICH 


153 


And old Liebereich, too, did everything just 
as he had planned it. He lay quietly in his 
bed until they shouted, “Merry Christmas, 
Liebereich ! Wake up ! ” Then he rose and 
took his wife in his arms and laughed at 
them, — in the very faces of them all ! — and 
told them how cunningly he had fooled them. 
Precisely as he had planned. 

And he had two recollections of the mo- 
ment. One was that Mrs. Schwalm smiled 
when she saw the blue feather-stitched night- 
shirt ; the other was that his wife was the 
prettiest of them all. After that came the 
vast happiness — all as he had planned. 

For all of this, from the second opening of 
that door, old Liebereich had only dreamed. 
But, quite as they had said, he would never 
know better, for he never woke. 

And when the neighbors indeed came 
through that door again in the morning, with 
guilt upon them, with stealth, wondering 
whether he were now dead, while it was yet 
dark, holding candles once more to his eyes, 
old Liebereich met them with such a beauti- 
ful, smiling, heaven-touched face that, one and 


154 


LIEBEREICH 


all, they dropped to their knees. And their 
eyes were not dry. 

And I am no longer sure of that philosophy, 
a few pages past, where we agreed that 
nothing could be better than to wait for old 
Liebereich’s wife — and Christmas. 

Or maybe the German wives are right, and 
he is better off ? 

For perhaps he hears sweeter music than 
the Christmas bells ; perhaps there is a more 
glorious light than the morning sun in that 
doorway ; perhaps the background of his pic- 
ture is crowded with fairer faces than those of 
his former neighbors. God knows ! Perhaps 
immortal youth has, in truth, come. Perhaps 
he does, indeed, embrace his wife. Else what 
is the use of heaven ? God knows 1 


“lUPITER TONANS 





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^aUPITER TONANS^^i 


I 

THE SEKIOUS INSOMNIA OF HIER RUHET 

The Spring of The Thousand Years on 
the Island of Floresnik, in the South Pacific, 
has now a pink marble panel, with an orna- 
mental border, put up by the Society for the 
Prevention of Disappointment, warning the 
traveller, in Gothic letters and seven languages, 
that he who drinks of it will sleep unchanged 
a thousand years. 

But no such warning was there on the 
morning of the 15th of December, 1504, when 
the lupiter Tonans, seventy-two guns. Admi- 
ral Hier Ruhet, from Amsterdam eighty-eight 
days, bore down upon the little island. The 
great new battleship had been separated from 
her consorts by the thick weather following 
the storm on the 12th of January of that year, 
and had now been out of her reckoning and 
without fresh water for twenty-three days. 

1 Copyright, 1905, by P. F. Collier & Son. 

157 


158 


lUPITER TONANS 


There was little attempt at discipline as the 
great ship came to anchor. Indeed, none was 
needed. From Ruhet down to the ship’s 
boots, Jawrge, but one desire prevailed, — 
water. 

Nor was there any waiting for boats. The 
crew waded or swam ashore and drank till 
they could drink no more. Nicht Wahr, the 
haughty first officer, dropped to the earth by 
the side of the third cook and put his face into 
the enchanting pool with him — jowl by jowl. 

So that around the great spring, like the 
fringe on the admiral’s cap — which he had 
taken off to drink — was the crew of the 
Tonans. And when all were satisfied, the pool 
had nearly vanished. 

« Ah, Nicht Wahr,” said the admiral, to his 
next in command, “ now I am again filled up, 
thank God ! ” with which he rolled over on his 
back and disposed himself to sleep. 

But he remembered then how the pool had 
lowered as they drank and cried out humor- 
ously to his men : “ On your life, don’t no one 
but me go to sleep till the ship has had her 
drink. Fill everything ! ” 


lUPITER TONANS 


159 


Again he turned upon his back, whispering 
to Nicht Wahr ; “You know that my black 
beast is insomnia, and it has never been worse 
than recently. Therefore I must snatch my 
sleep when I can. I never felt so much like 
it in my life. Keep awake until the ship is 
filled — excuse me — don’t speak to me ! — 
and don’t let me sleep after six o’clock.” 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” answered Nicht Wahr, though 
his own eyelids were heavy. “ But there will 
be no need of that, sir. You always wake 
first. Your sleeplessness is a great misfortune 
to us all.” 

Ruhet was already asleep. 

However, by threats and persuasion, and 
even beatings, Wahr kept the men at work 
until everything on the ship which could hold 
water was full. Then all dropped to sleep in 
their tracks. 


II 


AND THE POLITE CANNON OF WEISS NIGHT 

Now it happened that, by reason of the 
admiral’s recent insomnia, he did wake first — 
having slept but four hundred years and some 
odd months and weeks and days. And as he 
woke (the next morning, as he supposed) he 
swore with ecstasy — so fine did he feel. 

« Wake up, you lazy lunkers ! ” he cried 
gayly to his men, making a prodigious yawn 
himself. “I feel like a fighting cock — ” or 
words to that effect. I am not a nautical 
person. At all events he went on addressing 
them : Unless all signs fail, something will 

happen this good day. By my bay mare’s 
currycomb, I pity the craft that the Tonans 
falls in with to-day. For, having drunken, 
we now need to eat, and there is not a rat 
aboard the Tonans that might serve us for 
food. Up with you ! ” 

A few of the men who, like Ruhet, did not 


160 


lUP-iTER TONANS 


161 


sleep well, struggled to wakefulness at his 
voice. But, as to the most of them, it required 
his heavy boot, and his nearly as heavy hand, 
to kick and cuff them to their senses. How- 
ever, at last, all were awake, and so good had 
been the admiral’s rest that his temper still 
kept. And this was saying much for Ruhet. 

Weiss Nicht, the second officer, came for 
orders, scarcely able to conceal his yawn, for 
he was one of the crew who was never 
troubled with insomnia, notwithstanding the 
fact that Ruhet had made it fashionable. 

Up anchor and away, Weiss Nicht. Some 
ship must furnish us meat to-day, and we will 
give them water in exchange.” 

Each took a final drink from the spring, 
which now flowed full and free once more, 
and then went to their stations with as good 
a will as Ruhet himself. And it required this 
to get the sleepy ship under way. 

For, having once drunk of the Spring of 
The Thousand Years, one is immune ; its 
waters have no more power to cause sleep, 
but, on the contrary, produce such a delight- 
ful state of exhilaration as to approach mild 


M 


162 


lUPITER TONANS 


intoxication. It was in this blissful state 
that they finally set sail. 

Now, they were scarce an hour under way 
when this Weiss Nicht, who was the gunner’s 
mate on board, and many other things at 
other times and places, sighted, hull down, on 
the port quarter a small, strange craft painted 
green and scarcely to be distinguished from 
the water itself. 

This he reported, as was his duty, to his 
superior, Nicht Wahr. 

“ Hah ! ” cried the proud and apparently 
learned Nicht Wahr, “it is a rowing barge 
upon which some one has built a small cabin 
to float about in. It is good for the sun and 
the rain — is a cabin like that.” 

“ And the night dews are bad,” agreed the 
gibing Weiss Nicht. 

“Go on,” commanded Nicht Wahr, who 
hated the servile but critical second officer 
and gunner’s mate aboard. “They have no 
food. They can be of no use to us. To your 
station, Nicht ! ” 

“ But it moves, you fools ! ” thundered 
Ruhet, who had come on deck in time to hear 


lUPITER TONANS 


163 


the contention. “And it has neither sails 
like the Egyptian craft nor oars like the 
Roman. I wish I had it ! ” 

“ If your excellency will pardon Nicht 
Wahr,” said the apparently learned one, with 
a great bow, “ he begs leave to doubt that it 
moves — much.” 

“Hang you! Haven’t I got a couple of 
eyes ? ” 

Now Nicht Wahr only bowed, but as he 
did so he turned and smiled pityingly to 
Weiss Nicht, as who should say : “ Let him 
have his way. But, oh ! Moves ! Like this 
ship, for instance ! ” 

And perhaps that is the reason he only 
answered (when Ruhet had said imperiously), 
“ Well, then ? ” 

“ Excellency, perhaps they have in the hold 
little wheels turned by the rowers. There 
was talk of such a thing in Byzantium last 
year. Perhaps a knot a day.” 

Now there had been no such talk at Byzan- 
tium. It was the reductio ad absurdum of the 
haughty and apparently learned Wahr. He 
winked at Nicht. 


164 


“lUPITER TONANS 


But Ruhet insisted all the more because of 
that saying of Wahr’s : “Ha-a! Is that so? 
It must be a pretty kind of toy, then. I 
want it.” 

«‘So you shall,” said the second officer. 
“ For does not the great admiral get every- 
thing he wants?” 

“ I have had no breakfast ! ” 

« But you shall ! Ay, before the day is 
done ! ” supplemented Wahr. 

“Well, stop talking like a dictionary and 
get the toy for me. Then we’ll chase for 
food. Grace before meat, you know, aha, 
aha, ha ! ” 

Nicht Wahr cast upon the unhappy Weiss 
Nicht a look of superior hatred ; that he had 
by his impertinence rushed in where he had 
feared to tread, and had brought forth that 
bitter humor of Hier Ruhet’s. 

“ I desire, sir, that hereafter you will re- 
main at your station to await my orders, or 
those of his excellency,” he said. “ I will get 
the toy for him.” 

“ Oh, Wahr, tut, tut ! ” laughed the admiral, 
in high glee, because of the success of his humor. 


lUPITER TONANS 


165 


“Oh, Nicht, tut, tut! You must live as 
brothers aboard.” 

“ Sir,” said the haughty next in command, 
“ the discipline must be maintained ! ” 

“Well, since I think of it, that is so,” ad- 
mitted Hier Ruhet. “ Get along, Nicht I ” 

Whereupon Nicht Wahr haughtily com- 
manded Weiss Nicht in addition, that a gun 
be fired as politely as possible across the bows 
of the little craft, by the way of invitation for 
her to heave to — since the admiral desired 
her — 

“ In case she should be moving,” he said, 
with a great bow to the admiral. 

“ Politely, hah ? ” cried Ruhet. “ I think 
that is a mistake. It is always better to 
skeer ’em. Hang politeness in a cannon!” 

“ It is not for that purpose, sir,” answered 
that wise mate, “ that I do it — to be polite. 
But in order that we commit no act of piracy 
on the high seas.” 

Then Wahr struck an attitude in which his 
back was very concave and his feet far apart. 
For he was a sea lawyer, he said. 


Ill 


THE SOIJP-SPEING 

“ Thunder and blazes I ” cried Ruhet, look- 
ing about, “ who will know- it ? There is not 
a soul in sight.” 

« The law of nations first, sir. Second, our 
conscience. Both are everywhere.” 

“Well, where are they?” and Ruhet looked 
about again as if they could somewhere be 
seen. “ Hang bridle,” he cried to the gunner, 
“you just fire and don’t bother about being 
polite with your gun. If conscience and law 
are anywhere about here, they’ll let us know.” 

The gunner did so at once, for he hated 
the first officer as much as the first officer 
hated him, when he bothered about hating 
anybody, and he loved his bluff and straight- 
forward admiral. 

At once there broke out from the small 
craft a multitude of flags. 

“ I told you so, excellency,” said Nicht 
Wahr. 


166 


lUPITER TONANS 


167 


“ Well, tell me again,” said Ruhet. “Hanged 
if I know what it was. I have a short 
memory.” 

But the first officer held a haughty silence. 

Now the first fiags were exchanged for 
others, nearly all of redder hue. 

“ By the currycomb of Red Joshua, I think 
they are poking fun at us. Regular sport! 
If I were sure of that — ” 

“ Pardon me, they are not, excellency,” said 
Nicht Wahr. 

“ They are so,” cried the savage admiral. 
“ And by the roof of my father’s mouth, no 
one ever poked fun at Hier Ruhet and lived 
to poke more!” 

“Let us have mercy upon them, master,” 
said the hypocritical Nicht Wahr, devoutly 
crossing his breast. “They are but children. 
This is but a child’s toy, as I told you. We 
must not kill children.” His tenderness ap- 
pealed strongly to the admiral. 

“ No, nor cats,” answered Ruhet, at once 
convinced, “ for both are unlucky. Especially 
for the children and cats — ha, ha ! And, 
anyhow, I am getting hungrier every minute. 


168 


lUPITER TONANS 


That water is saline, I suppose. It makes 
one thirst. Go ahead. Hang the toy — I’m 
done wanting it.” 

Now the cunning Nicht Wahr noticed that 
the little craft Iiad broken out several flags of 
extremely sanguinary red, and he knew that 
he would be asked what it meant. 

To beguile the admiral while he thought 
of some explanation he said : Master, I have 
heard that near this spring of water there is 
another from which runs soup. Beautiful — 
thick — soup ! ” 

Ruhet at once turned from the little craft 
— forgetting all about it — and shouted. 

Where ? ” 

But meanwhile the cunning Wahr had 
whispered to the much less cunning Nicht, 
“ What do you suppose all that red means ? ” 

Now, Nicht was one of those persons who 
are wiser than they seem. More there be 
who seem wiser than they are — including 
the apparently learned Wahr. But not of 
that sort was Nicht. Nicht was simple, yet 
learned. 

“ Sir,” he said, saluting, “ that is a declara- 


lUPITER TONANS 


169 


tion of war. All savage nations use red to 
declare war.” 

What is all that red ? ” asked Ruhet, at 
this very moment. At once Wahr turned to 
Ruhet, as if he had got it all out of himself, 
and said, “ Sire, that means war ! ” 

“War?” cried Ruhet. “A dare? Hoi 
ho I ho ! ” 

And they fell laughing into each other’s 
arms. 

When Ruhet could stop laughing, he went 
on: “ Well, we’ll give ’em some war! Ho! 
ho I Then we’ll look for that soup-spring. 
Who told you about it, Wahr ? Not to hurt, 
you know, but just to skeer ’em. I like to 
skeer people. We’ll soon be on ’em. We 
are going a great gait, anyhow. What do 
you suppose it is, Wahr ? ” 

“ About six knots, excellency,” said the 
great Wahr. , 

“ Bah ! By my mother’s wig, we must be 
doing at least thirty by the way we are ap- 
proaching the toy ! ” 

“Sire, six is our limit.” 

Nicht Wahr looked and was puzzled 


170 


lUPITER TONANS 


nevertheless. The distance between them 
was certainly lessening rapidly. As he went 
to calculate their speed upon the slate, Weiss 
Nicht stepped up to the admiral and said, 
‘‘ She is approaching us at that rate, excel- 
lency.” 

« Impossible,” stormed the admiral. “ No 
ship with sails can go as fast as ours — let 
alone this little nin-comninny, with none at 
all. The Tonans is the limit, sir. But, all the 
same, I’ve changed my mind again — I want 
it. I will have it ! Don’t go away from it. 
Port your helm an ell. Weiswasser [to the 
steersman at the wheel], I really want the 
thing. For, by the tail of the ship’s cat, it 
gets prettier and prettier as we come nearer 
to it.” 

“ And so you shall,” said the cunning Nicht 
Wahr, returning, as a slap at the assurance of 
the impotent Weiss Nicht, in his absence. 

Now the craft was near enough to show a 
gilt name on her bow. 

‘‘Nicht Wahr,” said Ruhet, “your eyes are 
better than mine, and you have swallowed the 
dictionary ; what is she ? ” 


lUPITER TONANS 


171 


“ Can you spell ? ” whispered Nicht Wahr 
to Weiss Nicht. 

Thereupon Weiss Nicht, who was so much 
wiser than he seemed, spelled into the ear of 
Nicht Wahr, who was not, ‘‘ New Amster- 
dam.” 

« Why,” said Nicht Wahr, “ it has the 
name of that Dutch place old Columbus dis- 
covered some time ago. New Amsterdam. It 
must be near here — pooh ! I knew it ! ” He 
looked all about. 

« And the children are adrift and are asking 
for succor — ” cried Ruhet. “ That’s it. Poor 
things ! ” 


IV 


KNOCK WOOD 

At that moment a deep and terrible bass 
voice boomed all about them, asking, “ Tonans 
ahoy ? ” 

Ruhet nearly fell to the deck. Then he 
looked about at the men grouped near, in 
displeasure. 

“ Who was that ? ” he demanded. « Let 
there be no more of it. You all know the 
state of my nerves. Insomnia is awful on 
the nerv — ” 

Again came the voice : “You ignored our 
signals. Unless you give assurance to the 
contrary, we will regard you as pirates and 
take you.” 

By this time there was no doubt that the 
voice came from the little boat a mile away. 

“ Well, what is it ? ” asked Ruhet, of his 
wise man. “It cannot be a human voice.” 

“ It is a machine,” said Nicht Wahr. “ I 
heard of it at Byzantium.” 


172 


lUPITER TONANS 


173 


(He always spoke of Byzantium when he 
didn’t know.) 

“ It is English,” said Weiss Nicht. 

« And what is that ? ” asked Riihet. 

A language,” answered Nicht Wahr, pom- 
pously. ‘‘ Spoken by a machine.” 

« What does it say ? ” 

“ It says ‘ Good morning,’ excellency,” an- 
swered Nicht Wahr, ‘‘ and < How do you do ? ’” 

“ It says < Surrender or I’ll shoot,’ ” said 
Weiss Nicht, gruffly. I understand Eng- 
lish.” 

Wahr sulked magnificently. 

Ruhet believed Nicht. 

«Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed. “That’s a 
good joke. Keep it up. Tell ’em to sur- 
render first and set the example. Give ’em 
the port broadside. By my mother’s lost 
gold tooth, a good joke — give ’em the whole 
side.” 

The broadside was fired and immediately 
something clipped away the Tonans’s figure- 
head. 

“ Now, who did that ? ” roared Ruhet. 
“Nicht, bring the gunner here who was so 


174 


lUPITER TONANS 


careless as that, and, by my father’s smoke- 
pipe, I’ll teach him a lesson.” 

But alarm now seized upon Ruhet, and he 
forgot the figurehead. The little craft was 
seen to be sinking. 

“Wahr,” he cried, “you are an infernal 
blunderer. You have let them hit that little 
thing, and she is going down. Man a boat 
and get the youngsters out of her, you land 
lunkers ! ” 

Before this could be done the boat had 
entirely disappeared. 

“It was Nicht,” said Wahr. 

“ Never mind now,” said Ruhet, “ it’s too 
late. She’s gone and we’ve lost a fine toy 
and some children through your thickheaded- 
ness. Stand by to pick up the floaters.” 

But, almost immediately, from the star- 
board quarter, came the voice they had heard 
before. 

“ Tonans ahoy ! Have you got enough ? ” 

“Well, by the currycomb — ” began Ruhet, 
“ how did this ship turn clean about without 
my noticing it? Look here, Wahr, do you 
see that hump on her ? ” 


lUPITER TONANS 


175 


Nicht Wahr said that he did. 

“ Well, by the crackle of the galley fire, I 
believe that’s a tin gun in there ! It’s a toy 
warship. Aha, ha, ha ! ” 

“ One gun,” laughed the happy Wahr, with 
his admiral. ‘‘ What luck ! ” 

“ Knock wood ! ” cried Ruhet, who was 
superstitious. They did this. 

“ Have — you — got — enough ? ” cried the 
great voice. 

What’s he saying, Wahr ? ” asked Ruhet. 
But Wahr hastened below to order the boat 
to pick up the children (so as not to show the 
admiral how little he knew) and delayed his 
return, so that no one — not even Nicht — 
could tell him. 

“No matter,” said Ruhet, “ give her the 
starboard broadside. And be sure that you 
don’t hit her. I don’t want her spoiled. 
Give her fits ! Skeer her so terribly that 
she’ll come up like a little man and shake 
hands with us. Then we’ll have her. And 
don’t be too dinked polite ! ” And the great 
admiral poked his elbow into the ribs of his 
great gunner and laughed. “My, but I am 


176 


lUPITER TONANS 


hungry ! ” he went on. “ She may have a 
little luncheon aboard. Enough for one.” 

Wahr, just arrived on deck, haughtily gave 
Nicht the already given order to fire. But 
the impertinent, though accurate, Nicht said, 
“ Our guns are not carrying that far, excel- 
lency,” ignoring Wahr for his superior. 

“ What ? ” cried Ruhet, “ you rump of a 
sacred cow ! There is not a gun on this ship 
that will not shoot half a mile and kill at 
that, Wahr ! ” 

“ Precisely, sire,” said Wahr, odiously. 

“ Excellency, you must take my word or 
his,” cried the hot Nicht. “ You cannot take 
both. One of us don’t know.” 

“Take your choice,” said Wahr to him. 

“ The little ship is precisely a mile away,” 
said Nicht. “ I have a good eye.” 

“ Then,” snarled the cunning Wahr, “ if that 
be true, your majesty” — he would call the 
admiral such things sometimes as if by mistake 
when he was about to ask for something — or 
wanted to puff his superior up with pride — 
“ your majesty will be certain to accomplish 
what you wish — the skeering and not the 
destruction of the plaything.” 


lUPITER TONANS 


177 


“ By the curry — Fire — we are leaving 
her behind ! ” 

The thirty-six guns spoke at the same mo- 
ment with a noise which seemed to rend earth 
and sky — such was the practice of the 
gunners of the Tonans under the accurate 
and admirable Weiss Nicht. 

“ Now, then,” cried the Wise One, leaping to 
the bulwarks, “we will see whether I am right 
— or Nicht.” 


V 


AND SHOOT TO MAKE HOLES 

The little boat had disappeared. 

Aha ! ” cried Wahr, aha ! ” and again 
“ aha! ” 

Weiss Nicht only turned to port and waited 
for the smoke to drift away. 

« But your dinked being right has lost me 
Hiy toy. Dink you, Wahr.” 

From the port bow came the voice of Nicht. 

Here is your toy, all O.K., sir.” 

True enough, there she was ! 

“Wahr,” thundered Ruhet, “you are sailing 
this ship. What are you doing to her ? Have 
you got her on a pivot ? How does she turn 
in a second without me knowing anything 
about it ? ” 

“ Excellency, perhaps she has lost her rudder. 
I will have Weiswasser look. She certainly 
turns, as you say, without us knowing it.” 

But the truth is that Wahr was troubled 
178 


lUPITER TONANS 


179 


in heart as he took the wheel that Weis- 
wasser might go aft. For, unless the wind 
had changed suddenly, the ship could not have 
veered. He began to think of witchcraft. 

“ Excellency,” said Weiss Nicht, who always 
had a better chance when Wahr was at the 
wheel or below, “ our ship did not turn. That 
one dived under us.” 

“ What ! ” roared Ruhet. By the beard of 
a turnip, what do you take me for ? Wahr, 
did you hear that ? Aha, ha, ha ! ” 

“ I saw her sink on the starboard side, sir, 
and I saw her rise on the port side, sir,” 
said Nicht, doggedly. “ She is a magical ship.” 

“ Nicht, let me tell you a little secret,” said 
the admiral, with a laugh, “ when a ship sinks 
she sinks, and there’s an end to her — magic or 
no magic. The devil himself could not raise 
her again — let alone herself. But you would 
have me believe that you have seen this mir- 
acle. Well, go forward and tell in the fo’castle, 
no one is there ! ” 

“ Well, sir, you’ll see, sir,” said Weiss Nicht. 
“ If I were you, I would fly from that craft. 
There is some magic there. Excellency, I be- 


180 


“lUPITER TONANS 


lieve it was none of our own gunners who 
clipped off the figurehead — I don’t see how 
they could — but that magic thing.” 

“ Aha, ha, ha ! ” laughed Ruhet. “ How, 
Nicht ? Did she fire herself at us ? That’s as 
easy as sinking herself and rising again. And 
let me tell you another little secret, Nicht. No 
cannon can be fired without smoke. And we 
have seen no smoke from her — even if she 
were big enough to carry a gun that would 
reach us. Why, Nicht, look at that gun there. 
With that on the deck with the toy she could 
not float a minute. Nicht — Nicht — poor 
chap — you must report to the doctor at once, 
aha, ha, ha ! ” 

Nicht, much hurt, left the deck, and Ruhet 
laughed until the tears ran down his face. 

But he stopped suddenly at last, for the 
ship trembled for an instant, and then it was 
known that the rudder post had been clipped 
away. And Weiswasser had gone with it. 

Out on the water the little boat sat as 
placidly as a swan. 

This was so serious that Ruhet would have 
stormed at the gunners. But he remembered 


lUPITER TONANS 


181 


that none of his guns had been fired. Be- 
sides, he had no time. Another piece was 
clipped from the bow. Then, as quickly, 
another from the stern. 

The ship now began to roll backward and 
forward, like a rocking-horse. 

Out on the sea, apparently from the little 
craft, came the voice, so much greater than 
she : “ Aha, ha, ha ! Aha, ha, ha ! Tonans 
ahoy ! When you have had enough say so, 
and we’ll stop ! Otherwise we’ll chop you 
into kindling.” 

“Well, by my mother’s carpet slipper!” 
cried Ruhet, “ it can’t be any one on thia 
ship ! ” 

He looked skyward, then over the side, 
then off at the innocent toy. Nothing seemed 
to account for it. 

Nicht Wahr left the useless wheel and came 
forward. 

“Nicht Wahr,” whispered Ruhet, “Nicht 
thinks that toy has had something to do with 
this magic.” 

“Sire, I told you — ” 

“ Wahr, you’re a liar,” said the bluff Ruhet, 


182 


lUPITER TONANS 


wrathfully. « You didn’t know anything to 
tell me. You were never in Byzantium in 
your dinked life ! You said you would get 
it for me. Well, why don’t you do so instead 
of letting it get us — a little at a time ? Now 
let me see if you are good for anything. I 
no longer want it. Destroy it. And quickly. 
Don’t be too polite. Shoot to kill — or, at 
least, to make holes. Push the Tonans right 
up on her — so that you won’t miss her ! ” 


VI 


WHO BROKE RIJHET’S LEG? 

This, as Wahr now began to suspect only 
too well, was an impossible commission. 
But with his well-known sycophancy he said, 
“So you shall, sire.” 

All the admiral answered was : “ And then 
we’ll try for the soup-spring and have some- 
thing to eat — where do you suppose it is ? 
— and put new ends on the ship — ” forget- 
ting that there was nothing more in sight 
now than there had been for a long time. 

However, while Wahr was manoeuvring the 
ship, in her crippled condition, to bring her 
broadside to the little craft, the clipping went 
on at stern and bow until the water began to 
enter in a disquieting stream. Ruhet ran- 
sacked for the fiftieth time a locker on deck 
about the mizzen-mast for some cake which 
had once been there. The ship would not 
come about. Wahr had nearly decided to 
183 


184 


“lUPITER TONANS 


become sufficiently humble, in the absence 
of Nicht, to go on his knees and confess his 
first failure to the admiral, and then his ap- 
parent wisdom but real ignorance, when, to 
his surprise and delight, the little craft, 
seeming to apprehend his intention, put her- 
self exactly in the best position for the 
broadside. 

“ My luck never deserts me,” muttered 
Wahr, “even in such a dinked” — he loved 
to do and say the things his master did — 
“distressful time as this. Idl sink her yet. 
Now,” he cried to Weiss Nicht, so that the 
admiral might hear, “ I have made every- 
thing ready for you. Get your broadside 
off!” 

“ And, on your life, don’t miss her ! ” added 
Ruhet. 

The impudent Weiss Nicht knew Wahr well 
enough to be ready, and, on the instant, the 
broadside roared. 

When the smoke cleared, the green craft 
had disappeared. 

“ By my uncle’s — ” 

No one will ever know what wisdom the 


lUPITER TONANS 


185 


admiral would have uttered ; for, at that 
moment, the little thing reappeared, as Weiss 
Nicht had anticipated, on the other side of 
the ship, and he had made ready for her in 
order to affront Nicht Wahr. 

“ The starboard broadside ! ” he cried impu- 
dently, without waiting for Nicht Wahr’s 
order. “ Fire ! ” 

With the accuracy of all their practice this 
one went as the rest had gone — harmlessly 
into the sea. The boat had dived once more. 
And Nicht had seen her do it ! 

This was Weiss Nicht’s final test. It had 
been conceived and executed magnificently 
and scientifically, and it had failed. He went 
on deck, and with powder-blackened face 
made the following report: “Sire, it cannot 
be done. And the sooner we get out of the 
vicinity of that machine, the more of this 
ship will be left. I saw it di/ve / ” 

But at that moment he noticed that he was 
speaking to Wahr and not Ruhet. 

“ Where is the admiral, sir ? ” he asked. 

“ I thought you were he,” said Wahr, with 
the evidence of guilt in his face. 


186 


lUPITER TONANS 


“And I thought you were he,” cried the 
gunner’s mate, bravely. 

“ Where can he be ? ” said both. 

Both were answered immediately by a 
groan from the middle of the ship — which 
sounded profane. 

They found Ruhet there with a broken leg. 

“ Who broke my leg ? ” demanded Ruhet, 
savagely. 

“ Not I,” said Wahr. 

“ Nor me,” said Nicht. 

At that moment Wahr picked up the tell- 
tale object of their unhappy admiral’s un- 
doing. 

“ It is one of our own balls,” he said, with 
an odious glance toward Weiss Nicht. “ Here 
is the name — Tonans.” 

“ Oh, you villain ! ” cried Ruhet, shaking his 
fist at the unhappy gunner’s mate. “You 
shall be hanged at the yard-arm for this. You 
were always mutinous, anyway.” 

But at that moment, as is the custom of 
mankind, curiosity overcame pain in Hier 
Ruhet, admiral, of the lupiter Tonans. 

“ How did he get it here, Wahr ? ” 


lUPITER TONANS 


187 


For a moment — just a moment — Wahr 
was stalled. 

Sire,” he temporized, « I have been think- 
ing — ” 

“Well, stop it and tell me how he got it 
here. That is what I want of you. Not 
reflections. Weren’t you looking?” 

“ Sire,” said Wahr, hastily, before he had 
time to form a real hypothesis, “ the poor 
man fired two broadsides in quick succession. 
An unfortunate mistake of Weiss Nicht — due 
to his impudence in not awaiting my order to 
fire. Undoubtedly one of the cannons was 
underloaded, and its ball travelled so slowly 
that the ball from an overloaded cannon of 
the second broadside overtook it — ” 

“ By my mother’s nightcap ! ” cried Ruhet, 
in disdain. “ Hah ! ” 

“ Then it must have collided with one of 
the balls from the other — er — ship — ” 

Hier Ruhet actually laughed Wahr to scorn. 

“ That may have happened,” said Nicht. 
“Our balls travel slowly.” 

The clipping at bow and stern suddenly 
recommenced. 


188 


lUPITEB TONANS 


« She’s at work again ! ” cried a sailor, in 
panic. 

Indeed, panic was now rife all through the 
ship. 

“Lift me up,” said Ruhet; “I will study 
this magic at close quarters if I die for it. 
Be calm, men ! You still have Hier Ruhet ! ” 

They lifted him up. 

“ Men, how did she get there ? ” asked the 
admiral now of the common, ignorant sailors 
who came, terrified, and grouped themselves 
about him as their protector. 

One of them said that she had jumped over 
them. 

Another said that she had dived under 
them. 

Yet others contended that she had wings 
— that she had fins — that she was not a 
ship, but an apparition. 

Now, again, suddenly, the little boat began 
to sink. 

“Now I shall see,” said the wounded com- 
mander, doubtingly. “Perhaps, after all, we 
have punctured her below the water line, and 
she is a goner. If they call for help, have 


lUPITER TONANS 


189 


the boats ready. Have them ready, any- 
how. The fact is, we need a bit of help 
ourselves.” 

“ And,” ventured Nicht Wahr, dreamily, in 
an evil way he had, when he had been too 
much crossed, “they may have needles and 
thread.” 

“Nicht Wahr,” said the commander, in ig- 
norance of his irony, “do you know that I 
think that little thing is made of tin — per- 
haps several sheets nailed together ? ” 

“ Precisely, sire,” said Wahr. 

“Tin will sink,” said the impudent Weiss 
Nicht, again on deck. 

“And,” went on Ruhet, ignoring the inter- 
ruption, “ the ball that broke my leg might 
have bounced against it and returned to this 
ship.” 

“ Undoubtedly, sire,” said the odious Wahr, 
with a triumphant leer at Weiss Nicht, “your 
great and original mind has reached the cor- 
rect solution of our trouble, while we of lesser 
understanding foundered in seas of doubt 
and — ” 

“ Impossible,” cried Weiss Nicht, impudent 


190 


“lUPITER TONANS 


to the last. “ I can prove that the trajec- 
tory — ” 

“What?” cried the commander of the To- 
nans. “ This is no time for big words — or — 
or narrow jealousies. My leg is broke.” 


VII 


POOH ! 

« I THINK your majesty has exactly defined 
the cause of your injuries,” said the caustic 
Weiss Nicht, now in the style of Wahr. 

“ That much is settled then,” said the ad- 
miral, “ since you both agree. If it was 
only mended — ” 

Something tore through the ship. « A hole 
and nothing else ! ” sighed Hier Ruhet. 

“ Sire, I think we had better go,” said 
Wahr; “we can do no further good here. 
And besides, you may be unfortunate with 
the other leg — and your majesty’s hunger is 
not being satisfied. I believe the soup-spring 
lies S.S.W., Nicht.” 

“ Very well, since you are so hungry,” ac- 
quiesced the admiral, with immense testiness, 
“ get what is left of the Tonans under way, 
and, for heaven’s sake, don’t get skeered ! Be 
calm ! ” 


191 


192 


lUPITER TONANS 


This, with much distress and profanity by 
everybody, they endeavored to do. But, inas- 
much as the little boat kept up its clipping, it 
was not easy. However, at length, a bit of 
sail was rigged, a drag attached for a rudder, 
and what was left of the Tonans stood feebly 
to the wind. The little craft seemed to wait 
and look curiously on. 

And now and then they heard that huge 
voice laugh at them : “ Ha, ha, ha ! Ha, ha, 
ha ! ” 

Nevertheless they were making headway. 
For the sails of the Tonans had not been 
clipped. 

A slight boom was heard presently from the 
direction of the tiny boat, — the first they had 
heard, — though it was now nearly out of sight, 
and at once a strange missile ploughed its 
way through the Tonans from the stern, and 
stopped in the middle of the waist. It was 
of iron, conical, prettily made, ornamented 
with bright bands of metal, and about the 
size of Jawrge, the boots. 

The entire ship’s company gathered and 
viewed it curiously. * 



1 1 


The entire ship's company gathered and uiewed it curiously" 




• V I , 

»• ^ 


■Vr,* 



lUPITER TONANS 


193 


“ Stand nae up on my good leg,” cried Ruhet, 
as curious as Jawrge. Now, where did that 
come from ? ” he demanded of the sailors, as 
if some of them had put it there. No one 
answered. 

“ Certainly it did not come from that little 
toy. She’s out of sight.” 

Not a soul spoke. 

“Well, by my father’s strap — and the 
buckle on its end — never saw I such a lot 
of ninnikins, Nicht ! ” 

“ It came from yonder vessel,” said Nicht. 
“ Be careful ; it contains the magic.” 

Ruhet laughed once more. 

“ Why, Nicht, here is another secret, — the 
last one I shall tell you : it is bigger than the 
little vessel. Aha, ha, ha ! ” 

“ That is the magic of it, master.” 

“ However, it may be light,” said Ruhet. 
“Lift it. Nothing but a tin can, perhaps a 
present — hah ! a tin can sent to us with pro- 
visions ! Open it. They are very prettily 
put up, if they are to eat.” 

Ruhet touched it. 

“ It is hot. And that suggests the soup- 
p 


194 


lUPITER TONANS 


spring. Open it. Wahr, is this the soup- 
spring, you rogue ? 

Wahr looked wise. 

Weiss Nicht withheld the men solemnly. 

“ Do not touch it. It is full of magic. It 
is that has done the clipping.” 

Pooh ! ” said Wahr. “ Pooh, sire ! ” 

Do you really think so ? ” whispered 
Ruhet, half believing Nicht. “Well, it will 
do no more. Over with it.” 

Two men — then ten men — then twenty 
men — grasped it. 

“It is not soup, at all events,” laughed 
Hier Ruhet. 

“ Aha, ha, ha ! ” echoed the odious Wahr 
— still looking wise. “ Not soup ! ” 

“ Over with it ! Quick ! ” cried the impu- 
dent Nicht, ignoring both his superior officers 
in his fear. 

Each was about to administer a separate 
reprimand to the poor gunner’s mate. 

But at that moment it exploded. 


“ SIS ” 


I 


V 


* ' I r •, 









uglS^M 


I 

WHERE THE ORCHARDS SMELLED 

Once there were two old ladies who lived 
alone, in an old house with blue china and 
straight-backed chairs. And the key-note of 
that house (as every house has its key-note) 
was peace. I, who lived in a city, went 
there, now and then, to rest for a brief while 
in its peace and grow strong. For it was in 
the country, and all about it was the smell of 
orchards. 

One of the beautiful old ladies was blind. 
The other was so frail that it seemed a mar- 
vel how she kept going. Yet they never 
rested, — in the fashion which I should have 
called rest, — but were always as sentinels on 
duty. I was sluggard enough to sigh, occa- 
sionally, for a reclining chair or a couch. 
There was no such thing in the house. There 

1 Copyright, 1906, by The Curtis Publishing Company. 


197 


198 


“SIS 


never had been. It was sufficient for them 
that their ancestors had had nothing of the 
kind. For this was the doctrine of their simple 
lives — to be no more than (and as much as 
possible what) their mother and their father 
had been ; to hold all good which they had 
held good, and to call evil what they had 
called evil ; then to lie beside them at the end. 

There was a curious correlation between 
their several infirmities. They believed that 
God designed it so. The frail one was eyes, 
the blind one was strength — to both. 

Now, you are not to suppose that they were 
moody and melancholy and sour. On the 
contrary, they loved laughter, and constantly 
laughed at the queer straits into which their 
limitations so often brought them ; at the 
equally queer contrivances by which they 
were overcome. They laughed — yes — at 
themselves — gently — as they did all things. 

And they believed every one of those curi- 
ous things which no one believes nowadays — 
which are only gibed at. (And I am not sure 
that they who gibe are more wise than they 
who believe — are you ?) There were certain 


SIS 


199 


signs of the zodiac, movements of the constel- 
lations, phases of the moon, and meteorologi- 
cal conditions for the doing of everything — 
from the medication of mortal illness to the 
planting of beets in their little garden. And 
they knew, and scrupulously propitiated, 
every influence for good or evil luck. 

Nevertheless they were curiously modern 
in thought and attitude — fresh — young — 
interested. 

They liked my glittering automobile with 
its snorting terrors, and recalled Mother Ship- 
ton’s prophecy concerning it. But they would 
not ride in it. Not because they did not 
trust it and me, but because they instinctively 
knew that they would create an unpictu- 
resque anachronism. They understood that 
they belonged to the world of 1850. 

Yet they adored children — and the more 
modern their dress and manners the more 
they loved them. When the youngsters came 
(they were always being invited — inveigled, 
in fact), the shutters were flung wide as if the 
sisters said : “ Yes, the shadows are for us. 
But the sunshine is for you!” 


200 


“SIS 


Still nothing in that house was of a child- 
ish sort — except those children’s clothes 
packed away in the garret. It was here that 
they would spend their holidays. Sitting on 
the floor they would open the chests which 
were before trunks, and the fragile one would 
put the tiny garments into the hands of the 
blind one — piece after piece — and chatter 
softly : 

“ Hiliary’s, you know.” 

“ Oh, yes ! The one with the blue-fringed 
ruffles,” the blind one would answer. 

“ Mildred’s little patchwork quilt.” 

“ She was three, then.” 

“ Yes. She sat in the little rocker to sew.” 

«Yes — it had hlue pinks painted on the 
back.” 

“She used to say that she couldn’t sew 
except in the little rocker.” 

They would both laugh at that. 

“ And she would rock furiously I ” 

“ Yes, and sew that way ! Feel these savage 
stitches ! ” 

“And sing!” 

“ Yes.” 


“ SIS 


201 


The frail one would sing, then, in a small, 
quavering voice ; and if she had not to cry too 
much, the blind one would join in the song — 
especially in the refrain — with an alto that 
went wrong more often than right — as they 
say it did when she sang in the choir. For 
both of them used to sing in the choir. And 
they still loved music. Sometimes, sitting 
behind their thick, black veils, in the corner 
of the faded church no one ever took from 
them, they would hear the old organist play 
(they let him do so whenever the young lady 
had a headache), “ Fading, Still Fading.” 
Then they would reach out and hold each 
other by the hand. For that had been a 
famous duet of theirs. In fact, they still 
yearned to sing whenever they heard it. But 
that would not do. Only the choir sang now. 

Did I tell you that the husband of the frail 
one had died in 1860, and that they had both 
worn mourning for him ever since ? It was 
he who had used, sometimes, to invent a third 
part to their duet — a tremendous bass. 

The other precious thing in this garret was 
a trousseau. Once I saw a bonnet of white 


202 


“SIS 


silk — made coal-scuttle fashion — shirred (I 
think that is the name) — and with a simple 
red rose inside where it nestled against thick 
brown hair and cheeks with pink spots in 
them — at least so they are all pictured in the 
old daguerreotype taken at Philadelphia. 

And there was a wondrous silk dress of a 
wide stripe — white, with just a dash of pink 
in the moire. It could be worn to-day. It 
is not cut at all. But it is much more soft 
and gentle — this fabric woven only by worms 
and human hands — than those woven on 
power-looms. Then there was a pair of satin 
slippers with strings to cross over the ankles, 
and a marvellous petticoat — all feather-stitch- 
ing ! A veil, too, turned quite yellow now, 
which had always wrapped some sprays of 
flowers, the stems of which only remained. 
But one could see that they had been orange- 
blossoms — mock-OY^ngQ blossoms. They grew 
in the front yard of the two old ladies — when 
they were not old ladies at all. They grow 
there still. Mock-orange blossoms. 

There was, too, a pair of stockings, which, 
I was often told, had come straight from 


“SIS 


203 


London. Think of that! They had pink 
clocks at the sides ending in rosebuds. After 
that the trousseau was of intimate things I 
may not mention — and which I never saw 
— perhaps could not name — for when these 
were likely to be uncovered the lid of the 
chest was softly, deprecatingly closed in my 
face. But I know that they were infinitely 
adorned. 


II 


THE EYES THAT WEPT TILL THEY WENT BLIND 

Their conversation has been going on all 
the while they have sat there on the floor. 
Listen ; 

“I wore this on my wedding journey. 
Brides did that then.” 

« A bride wished it known that she was a 
bride in those days, didn’t she ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed. She was proud of it. Not 
ashamed.” 

It was your first railroad journey ? 

“Yes. There was only one railroad in this 
part of the country then. And it was a long 
time before the people got reconciled to trav- 
elling so fast. Each one expected never to 
get back alive. But we went all the way to 
Philadelphia on it. And it took only three 
days. There was lots of smoke from the 
engine. Even Hiliary preferred the stage. 
But I — Here a small cinder burnt a hole.” 

The blind one would feel it. 


204 


SIS 


205 


“ You looked very pretty then, sis. I saw 
you — gor 

Sis would not reply. There was not a 
spark of vanity in her. But she was very 
pretty at that moment. And there were the 
Philadelphia daguerreotypes to prove that she 
was pretty in 1857. 

« We were married only three years.” 

We ! It meant the three of them. 

It was this the blind one thought of most. 
Remember that when we finally get to the 
story. 

“ Yes, Hiliary died in 1860.” 

And then the memory of the frail one would 
pass the gulf of all those years and she would 
touch the blind one with a caress. 

“And when vre got home again you had 
lost your sight ! ” 

“ Yes.” 

“But, sis, it wasn^i because you were so 
lonely and cried so much ! It couldn^i have 
been that ! ” 

It was the question she had begged a thou- 
sand times. And the answer she was to have 
she had had as often : 


206 


SIS 


« No.” 

“ For crying, no matter how much, will 
never hurt the sight ? ” 

« No.” 

«I don’t think Doctor Massey ever under- 
stood your case.” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

« Well, he let it go until it was too — 
There are better doctors now. They would 
know ? ” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ But it’s too late, isn’t it ?” 

The answer, too, she had always had to this, 
while she had always hoped, and always 
would, for a different one : 

«Yes — it’s too late. It was to be so.” 

But you were lonely^ dear sis ? I wouldn’t 
like to think that you were not.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” 

« The neighbors said that the shutters 
weren’t opened all the while we were away.” 

“ What was the use ? ” 

« And they heard you cry.” 

“Well, of course! We had never been 
separated before.” 


“SIS 


207 


“And I was so happy that I didn’t even 
think that you might be unhappy. But 
you’ve forgiven me for that.” 

“ I was happy, too — for your happiness, sis, 
dear.” 

“ Then why did you cry so ? That I never 
will understand.” 

Nay, that the frail one would never under- 
stand until she should reach that Heaven 
where all the secrets of the earth are revealed. 
For it was here alone that the blind one had 
never been quite frank. Always she had 
answered, always she would answer, until 
they faced each other in that Heaven : 

“ People cry for joy as well as for sorrow, 
sis, dear.” 

“ But not so hard that they lose their eye- 
sight.” 

“ When one is worried the weakest part 
goes first. And the doctor said it was that 
way with me. My eyes were weak.” And 
then the fatalistic refrain : “ It had to be.” 

“ But, sis, dear, why did you worry ? ” 

“ About you.” 

I think she had told this gentle lie more 


208 


“SIS 


than a thousand times. But I am sure that 
the recording angel has not got it down 
against her once. 

« But I was happy.” 

“Yes — you — were — happy — dear — dear 
sis.” 

“ And so you never saw me after that — 
nor Hiliary, nor the babies — ” 

“ But, sis, dear, I could touch you all, and 
hem your voices, and there was so much to 
remember. You know that I was happier 
after my blindness than before.” 

“Yes, I know. And I cannot understand 
thaV' 

That, too, she would know only in that One 
Place where there are no secrets. 


Ill 


THE GOLDEN TEAPOT WITH THE BLUE ROSE 

Now they had a teapot. It had come, like 
everything else in that house, from their 
ancestors. It was not like their other china, 
blue, but golden — a coppery gold under an 
iridescent glaze that made it look like real 
gold at a little distance. And this teapot was 
not tall — and commonplace. It was low and 
long from handle to spout — and oval — with 
vertical fluting. And on each side was sculp- 
tured an imposing medallion within which 
was a blue rose. 

Always, when they sat at meat, this was 
between the two dear old ladies. And the 
one groped for it so perilously — in a certain 
affright — and the hand of the other trembled 
so when she poured from it, that I often inter- 
posed. Alas I it was more to preserve than to 
help ; for you have perceived, no doubt, that I 
coveted the teapot. 


200 


210 


“SIS 


However, the old ladies were embarrassed 
by my help. They wanted to pour their tea 
for themselves, as their grandmother had done, 
out of this same pot. Nevertheless, they suf- 
fered my assistance with a grace which I 
remember even now for its gentleness. 


IV 


THE STORY AT LAST. ATTEND ! 

Then, upon an idle day, searching one of 
the big stores in my city for a gift for them, 
I came upon the self-pouring teapot — not 
unmindful of the peril of the other one. I 
explained to the too polite clerk that I wanted 
something for my dear old ladies, and he 
assured me that I had discovered precisely the 
thing — that it had been invented with dear 
old ladies constantly in mind : the while he 
had been giving me the most deft « demon- 
stration” I had ever beheld. Each act kept 
pace with some telling phrase. 

It was a huge, mechanical thing, of which, 
if one depressed a cylinder, the air was forced 
out of the spout, and ahead of it flowed the 
tea. The name of it was “ Eureka.” 

I bought it and had the monograms of the 
dear old ladies graven unreadably on its triple- 
plated sides. 


211 


212 


“SIS 


On the day of its presentation I noticed a 
certain lack of joyousness in the gift. But I 
explained that to myself by the appalling 
shining imprudence of the thing in the midst 
of their chaste colorlessness. I labored indus- 
triously to quench its brilliance by passing my 
hands over it at every opportunity. But the 
servant — alas ! there was one now — invari- 
ably brought it to the table in a renewed 
state of polish which maddened me. How- 
ever, I taught them how to “ work ” the 
machine, and they diligently learned ; so that 
whenever I came it was religiously used, 
though with a retrogression of skill at which 
I marvelled until I learned from the maid that 
it was used only when I was there, and in my 
absence was made immaculate, packed in its 
cotton wool, and put away in its gaudy box. 

Unhappily the blind one lifted the thing 
heavily to pour from it one day. I restrained 
her. She flushed a little and said : 

“ I can’t and seem to get used to it. 

Seems as if I must do it as grandmother did 
— which is ridiculous.” 

« Why, God bless you ! ” I cried, « and so 


“SIS 


213 


you shall. We will throw the thing into the 
yard. I hate it ! ” 

They were both so stricken with horror at 
my passion that I did not — but I swear that 
that is the only reason. 

To comfort me the frail one said: « We — 
we’re very fond of it, you know. I don’t 
suppose your teapot has a story ? ” 

Do you observe that she unconsciously said 
your teapot ? 

I at once fancied the hideous history of the 
hideous mechanism. A hissing, grinding 
factory ! 

“No,” I answered, adopting her phrase of 
proprietorship, “ my teapot has no story.” 

But then I added, “ Has yours ? ” 

Some guilty exchange passed between the 
two old ladies in the occult way which needs 
no speech. And the mystery of the bit of 
clay was deepened. Most things (save the 
patent teapot) are not new. But I am sure 
that this question had never before been asked 
them. 

“ Yes,” said the frail one, with the assent 
of the other. 


214 


“SIS 


“ I guess you may tell him,” said the blind 
one, huskily, looking down. 

The frail one looked almost aghast. 

“ Why, sis ! ” she said breathlessly. And 
then, to me, “ It is the first time she has ever 
let me tell it.” 

« He won’t laugh,” said the blind one — and 
therein voiced an affection for me of which I 
shall always be glad. 

Do you wonder that I hastened her to her 
story? Perhaps you are glad that I am at 
last come to it. Yet all I have said belongs 
together if it were properly told. 

Now attend ! 


V 


HILIAEY LOVED BOTH AND BOTH LOVED HIM 

“ In 1757,” the frail one began, “ everything 
was different from what it is now — you can’t 
imagine how different. There was no money 
like our national bank-notes. The money of 
the United States was gold and silver coin. 
There was state money — ‘ shinplasters,’ they 
were called — and such things. But most of 
the money was the private notes of bankers, 
and no one ever knew whether they were 
good or bad. So they were always uncer- 
tain, and people who wanted money to keep 
would get it in gold or silver pieces. Sis 
and I had a little money from our mother’s 
estate — two thousand dollars each — and the 
teapot. They gave it to us in twenty-dollar 
gold pieces, mine of 1837, and sis’s of 1836 — 
the dates of our birth. I think one could get 
them stamped at the Mint that way in those 
days. Anyhow, these came from the Phila- 
delphia Mint.” 


215 


216 


“SIS 


See how badly my old lady tells a story ! 
She jumps straight from the coins to Hiliary. 

« Sis and I never knew which of us Hiliary 
loved. He came to see us both — and, in fact, 
the whole family. And everybody liked him, 
and he liked everybody. But it seemed pretty 
certain that he would ask one of us to marry 
him. So sis and I (we were living here alone 
then — father having died the year before) 
laughingly considered that we would probably 
not need more than one trousseau (for Hiliary 
was the only beau we both had), and that we 
would put into the teapot all that we could 
spare for that purpose and not count it until 
Hiliary had asked one or the other of us — 
then she was to have it all. Whenever we 
had a levy or a fi’-penny-bit to spare, we would 
drop it into the teapot. Sis put in twice 
to my once, I am sure, because I had what 
they called a sweet tooth in my head, and 
brother Ben said that syrup water, which you 
could get at the groceries then, was the only 
thing that was good for it.” 

The blind one stopped the story to explain 
something she thought was not plain to me : 


SIS 


217 


We thought we could onlj afford to have 
one wedding between us, you know.” 

« Why, weren’t there plenty of suitors ? ” 
asked I. 

« I guess there was only one for both of us — 
and his name was Hiliary,” smiled the frail 
one. 

Then she went on : 

“ One night Hiliary was here, and sis and 
I were sitting in these two chairs, close to- 
gether, as if we were afraid of him (we always 
sat that way when he was here). I remember 
that I had on my blue-flowered delaine, and 
sis had on her black Swiss with the green 
sprigs in it, just as we are in that first 
daguerreotype at the left-hand corner of the 
parlor mantel. Hiliary had just shown sis 
one of the new coins of 1857. 

“‘Well,’ he laughed, ‘I want to marry one 
of you girls, but hanged if I know which 
one to ask. You are both mighty lovely. 
I believe I’ll turn Mormon.’ 

“ But I thought he shied off toward sis 
there as he said it, and I never felt so lonely 
in my life as I did for a second or two then. 


218 


» SIS 


“^Now, you are taller than sis, here, but 
she is plumper — and I like both. Your eyes 
are the same — there is no choice there. But 
sis’s hair is a bit redder — and I like that. It 
shows a spirit. And I don’t want to be the 
whole thing when I marry. But you are 
extravagant,’ he said to me, « and I don’t like 
that, because I’m poor, and a wife must help 
her husband to get along.’ 

« I thought again that he moved a bit more 
toward sis, there — who was hiding the coin. 

“ Just then sis cried : ‘ Heads for me, tails 
for sis. Which is it ? Hurry ! hurry ! ’ 

“ ‘ All right,’ said Hiliary, laughing. 

“ Sis turned up the coin — and it was — me ! 

“ She jumped up and ran away laughing, 
then, and Hiliary sat still quite a while, as if 
he weren’t exactly sure. I was hanging my 
head ashamed and afraid. But then he laughed 
and put his arms around me and kissed me. 
He was a little bashful. 

« ‘ I guess God put that into sis’s head,’ he 
said. 

« That is another thing people believed then 
— that God commanded things in that way. 



“ ‘/ want to manry one of you ginls, but hanged if / know which one 

to ask ’ ” 










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“SIS 


219 


and that one would he disobeying Him not to 
do them. 

“ My, but I was happy ! I didn’t know till 
that instant that I cared so much for him. I 
must have fainted for a few minutes. When 
I came to, sis was there again with something 
damp on my face. At first I couldn’t see. I 
heard Hiliary say, <But what if it had been 
you ? ’ 

“ ‘ I wouldn’t have had you,’ said sis. 

“ < You would have broken your word ? ’ 

“ ‘ Certainly — rather than marry you ! ’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! ’ 

“ « I’m looking for some one hetter than you 
— letter in every way ! ’ 

“ ‘ But you would have been going against 
God, maybe ? ’ 

“‘Not even then. I want some one — 
letter / ’ 

“ But poor sis never found her better one — 
though I suppose there was one for her some- 
where — as she deserved. For she couldn’t 
look for him nor see whether he was better or 
worse than Hiliary if he had come. She lost 
her sight. But I’m a little ahead of my story. 


220 


“ SIS 


“That night I heard sis saying strange 
things in her sleep and sobbing. She told me 
the next morning that it was for me — be- 
cause we had to part — ” 

“ And you said,” the blind one interrupted, 
“ that we should never part.” 

“ And you insisted that it was impossible to 
live together after I was married, that three 
was a crowd, and that you should go and 
keep house for brother Ben.” 

“ I only said I should go mad.” 

“Yes, only think! What could you have 
meant ? ” 

The knowledge of that would have to wait, 
too, until the heavens are rolled together as a 
scroll. 

“ Anyhow, sis said — it was early in the 
morning and we were not dressed yet — that 
we had better go down and see how much was 
in the teapot, and we did. 

“ There was not a cent in it ! 

“We never knew when it had been stolen. 
Perhaps long before. But it was all gone 1 ” 


VI 


SHE BELIEVED IN MIRACLES. DO YOU? 

She approached the next part of her story 
diffidently. 

“Maybe you will not care for the rest. 
I know you don’t believe in signs.” 

“ But I do,” I protested. 

She brightened with delight. The blind 
one said nothing. I think her head bent a 
trifle lower. 

“And do you believe that God helps those 
who love Him when they are in distress ? ” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ and some who do not love 
Him as well as you do. He has helped 
me — when I did not deserve it.” 

She gazed a moment in wonder. 

“ I don’t mean indirectly ? ” 

“ Directly ! ” I said. 

“ But you surely do not believe in ” — she 
halted, ashamed of the ancient word for an 
instant, then bravely put it at me — “ mira- 
cles ” ? 


221 


222 


“SIS 


“ I have seen miracles.” 

And I told her of some that I had seen. 

Do you suppose that I would cast a shadow 
of doubt upon so precious a heritage? A 
believer in miracles ! I thanked God after I 
had heard the end of her story that I need 
not. Don’t you believe in miracles? Don’t 
we all constantly expect the impossible ? 
And if we do not believe in miracles, how can 
we expect that ? And doesn’t the impossible 
often happen ? Well then ! 

“ I wouldn’t like to tell you if you would 
laugh.” 

“ I am more likely to cry,” I said. 

Alas! I fear that she did not quite trust my 
hyperbole. She continued carefully : 

“ Well — then — comes the — mystery. 
There was no way except to pray for it. 
You know people — especially women — be- 
lieved more in the efficacy of prayer then than 
they do now — they used to think of that 
first. And my heart was almost broken, for 
I had spent nearly all my money, and that 
was my only hope for a trousseau — and, of 
course, no girl can be married without one — 


» SIS 


223 


her husband would have no respect for her. 
At least that is what was thought then. So 
every night I prayed, but no miracle hap- 
pened. Then one night I slipped out of bed, 
where I could do nothing but think of it, and 
came downstairs to pray so that I would not 
disturb sis. As I prayed I heard coin rattle 
into the old teapot ! I lit a candle (I had 
been in the dark) and ran in to look. (It was 
only in the closet in the next room.) I could 
not lift the teapot down — it was so heavy. 
At last, when I got it off the shelf, it slipped 
out of my hands, and was only saved from 
destruction by falling on the thick rug at the 
hearth. It was then that it was cracked. 
But the gold pieces fell and rolled about in a 
veritable shower. My candle went out. I 
let them all lie, and rushed up to wake sis. 
It was hard to do — she was sleeping so 
soundly. But when I could make her under- 
stand, she was as surprised and happy as I 
was. 

“ We lit another candle and stole down and 
closed the shutters and locked the doors and 
gathered them all up. There were exactly 


224 


“SIS 


one hundred twenty-dollar gold pieces. Only 
think ! And all were stamped 1836. 

« ‘ Oh, sis,’ I said, ‘ some one has stolen 
your money ! ’ 

“ ‘ If any one went to the trouble to steal 
my money, he would keep it, not present it to 
you, never fear ! Mine is safe at the bank.’ 

“ And sure enough, when she went down to 
see, the next morning early — for she was 
very anxious — it was all there, quite safe, 
drawing its seven per cent. For sis had put 
hers there from the first, and used only the 
interest. And at that time a hundred and 
forty dollars a year was enough for a girl to 
live on very well. But I had spent my all in 
what Hiliary called riotous living. 

“ I thought, at first, we ought to make it 
known through the paper. But sis said that 
if any one had been robbed of that money, he 
would be the person to make it known, as he 
certainly would, and that to talk of it in that 
way was to doubt that it was a miracle. 

“ I have never doubted that. But I did 
watch the paper for a long time.” 


VII 


THAT WAS A GREAT TIME FOR KISSING 

“You have seen my poor old trousseau. 
But it was the finest that could be had here 
in those days. Sis and I did most of the 
sewing — or rather sis did it. That was the 
custom then. And she cried more than I did 
over it, and was more pale and shaky at the 
ceremony. She was my bridesmaid. But 
we all lived happily together afterward. I 
think sis was more happy than either Hiliary 
or me. And she was more of a wife to him 
than I was; more of a mother to my babies 
than I was. It seemed more her vocation than 
mine. The only unhappy thing about it — 
the only terrible thing in all our lives — 
was when we came home so happy, with a 
miniature of us that we had painted in Phila- 
delphia for her, to have sis led out of the 
dark parlor with a black bandage over her 
eyes and to be told that she was — blind ! 

Q 22§ 


226 


“SIS 


« Blmd ! I remember now how she put 
her hands all over my face and said that she 
could feel the happiness — and not to cry. 
But she didn’t want to touch Hiliary. He 
had come in laughing and calling for her first. 
For, as I told you, she had been the happy 
one — not I ! 

“ When he saw her, he just held her 
hands as if he had turned to stone, and 
the tears ran down his face — the first I had 
ever seen him shed. And then he kissed her. 
He had never kissed her before, though I 
wouldn’t have minded it. Those were greater 
times for kissing than these. 

“ ‘ She must never go away from us,’ he 
said to me in an entire change of voice. In 
fact, whenever he spoke to her after that it 
was so. « And nothing must ever mar her 
happiness. She is ours.’ 

“Of course we were all crying, no one 
could speak another word — so that there 
was nothing to do but put our arms about 
her — and keep her — and make her happy — 
which we did — didn’t we, sis ? ” 

“Yes,” whispered the blind one. 


SIS 


227 


Then fell a long pause in which three 
minds travelled back to that beautiful old 
time and lived its happiness over again. 

«It is very funny — what the blind can 
do if they like. Sis would darn the stock- 
ings, nurse the babies, teach them their 
lessons, tie Hiliary’s stock better than he 
could, or I, feel in his pocket to see whether 
he had always a handkerchief, do every- 
thing for him — and let me go gadding. It 
was the very luckiest thing for Hiliary that 
she never married. For it took both of us 
to be a wife to him — and sis was more 
than her share of her. 

“ And,” ended the frail one, “ we are very 
thankful — for we have had everything we 
wanted. Only, when Hiliary died, my heart 
would have broken except for sis, for you 
know sis is brave, oh, sis is very brave — 
braver than I ! ” 

“Yes,” I echoed, “sis is very brave — 
braver than you ! ” 

I looked at the blind one ; and I am sure 
that she knew what I was thinking. Her 
face was still turned to her plate. But 


228 


« SIS 


high on the cheeks a flush mounted, as I 
looked, which might be guilt — or some- 
thing else. And I fancied a tear under 
each eyelid which she dare not shed nor 
wipe away. Poor sis ! 

And the face of the other one was flushed, 
too. But I knew very certainly that meant 
joy. For her beautiful dark eyes looked 
straightly and happily into mine. Yet — 
there were tears there, too! 

And so you see that the saying of the 
dear old lady is once more proven true. 
People cry for joy. 

I reached across the table, scattering the 
teacups as I went, and took a hand of each. 

“ A beautiful story,” I said. 

“ It is the first time,” said she, happily, 
who had told it so badly. “I didn’t think 
I could tell a story. But somehow I was 
just carried along.” 

‘‘ It shall never be told again,” I said, 
“unless you permit it.” 

But I pressed the hand of the blind one, 
slowly, gently, until her head drooped a 
little further and she responded : 


« SIS 


229 


“ Not until we are both dead.” 

I have kept the faith. They are both 
dead. 

And I will not put into printed words 
the thoughts of my mind. I will not spoil 
the story of the dear old ladies by making 
it orderly and conventional. For fifty years 
the frail one had believed in the mystery 
of it — had even seen God in it. A miracle ! 
How unquestioning was faith then ! How 
simple was she ! 

But I may tell you what I see, here, as 
I write. 

First, that other one, with sudden under- 
standing turning the coin, like an accom- 
plished palmist ! Then again, stealing down 
the stairs in her white night garments, after 
her sister, and hearing that prayer of agony 
— then back — for that money — all pre- 
pared — because of the earlier prayers — 
but halting — then, finally, to bed, like a 
wraith, pretending sleep, having made the 
supreme sacrifice of her small life. 

And I can see her the next day, swearing 
that prim-faced old banker, in his dusty 


230 


“SIS 


office, to eternal silence and untruth — an 
oath he kept with faith. 

I wish I might not see her putting aside 
forever that trousseau — the wedding jour- 
ney — the little hoard. For these meant 
that she had been sure of Hiliary. And, 
perhaps, that she and her sister were after- 
ward to part for her wedded happiness. 
Was it not best as it happened ? 

And those sobs — I do not like to hear 
them — so terrible as to deprive her of her 
sight. The while she had to think of them 
in the light and she forever in the dark. 
And alone ! Alone ! But it is good to 
know — is it not? — that they truly lived 
happy ever after — that the end of all was 
joy ? That she lived with him she loved 
and who loved her all the rest of his life 

— in the sound of his voice — in the touch 
of his hands — in all the gentleness of him 

— all the more intimately in that she was 
blind ? For she might touch him then as 
she pleased — and it was his duty to pro- 
tect her — sometimes he might kiss her. 
For you will remember that the other one 


“SIS 


231 


did not mind. And that those were greater 
times for kissing than these. 

And do you think that she darned even 
his stockings — something that touched his 
living body — without leaving on them a 
kiss or a caress ? I do not. And wasn’t 
it splendid to live in the only happiness 
there was for her — or ever could be — by 
reason of that one great sacrifice ! That 
she might rear his children, who was to be 
mother to none ! That she might be almost 
a wife to him — who was to be wife to no 
one! That she was to have the very com- 
radeship her soul desired because she was 
blind — not otherwise I 

And, best and greatest and sweetest of 
all, that she for whom it all was — the 
sorrow — the penance — the sacrifice — would 
never know till she should reach that Heaven 
where her knowledge would only be blotted 
out by the greater joy it would bring — 
there, where there is neither marrying nor 
giving in marriage, but where the Lamb is 
the one bridegroom! 


VIII 


WHAT MAY BE SEEN ON A DOORSTEP 

When the last one — the frail one — died, 
the teapots were sent to me in the city. 
(Had they, do you think, known of my cove- 
tousness all the while ?) The one is wrapped 
in some soft, old, yellowed tissue which 
might have been with the trousseau. It 
smells faintly of dead rose-leaves. The little 
crack is neatly filled with fresh putty. Two 
of the worst chippings have been carefully 
built up and modelled with the same mate- 
rial. The other is resplendent in its origi- 
nal cotton-wool and rests in its box. 

Only a little while ago I was passing a 
man’s back door. On the step was a patent 
teapot. It was not splendid, but like a 
person in evil circumstances. And I am 
sorry to say that I was glad — as I ought 
not to be in the case of a person in evil 
circumstances. He was pressing upon an 
232 


“ SIS 


233 


air piston and expelling kerosene to fill a 
lamp. 

I stopped, and smiled, and said : 

“ ‘ Eureka ? ’ ” 

“^Eureka!’” he echoed, smiling also. 

“It seems good — for kerosene,” I said. 

“It is very good — for kerosene,” he re- 
plied. 

“But not for dear old ladies,” I thought, 
as I passed on. 

And so I tell this little story — or the old 
ladies do — because I wish that no one may 
ever again buy a new teapot for old ladies. 
They may have an old one with a story. 
But in case any one unthinkingly should, I 
have provided a better use for it — or the 
man on his back doorstep has. I have 
always wished that I had met him — on his 
doorstep — earlier. 



THOE’S EMERALD 




THORNS EMERALD 


I 

THE SHIBBOLETH OF LIBERTY 

Far out, toward the eternal ice cap, there 
was once a spot of earth so glowing with deli- 
cate verdure that it was called Thor’s Emerald. 
One can scarce imagine how it came there, un- 
less, indeed, it dropped, by some celestial mis- 
chance, from a Titanic diadem. It lay bedded 
between the sea and mountain, and overlooked 
by the glacier. Yet, these enemies were kept 
at bay by a south wind rifled from an incon- 
stant current which visited the fjord. Fair to 
the eye, it was a Dead Sea apple. One might 
grind one’s heel into the soil and And the 
primeval shingle left by the receding waters. 
And, always, there had been the threat of the 
glacier. For, when the inconstant current 
should cease, at the bar itself was making 


237 


238 


THOR’S EMERALD 


before the mouth of the fjord, the glacier would 
come down. 

It was scarce fivescore acres. Yet it has 
its little history, whose beginning no man 
knows, whose end it is mine to relate. 

In the dim past some castaways had here 
found a good refuge from the icy waters, and, 
having no hope of another country, had here 
set up their households. Their names perished. 
But their descendants, bound to the soil by an 
heredity stronger than either will or circum- 
stance, kept their graves on the mountain side, 
which outnumbered many times the living. 

For, each year, the sea and the glacier 
claimed their several victims. 

The narrow strip of beach which led out to 
the south had been wider in the time of the 
castaways. Yet none had cared to pass by it 
into the better world that lay beyond — nor 
did they sail to it across the sea which had 
been so deadly to them all. 

Thus the sum of their lives had been com- 
passed in the Emerald of Thor. The sum of 
their necessities had ever been to keep life 
within and covering without their bodies. 


THOR’S EMERALD 


239 


And these simple things had been hard to ac- 
complish always. For the glacier encroached 
when the bar and the ice kept the warm current 
away, and the fish went with the current. 

That duress of fear, which held the cast- 
aways, had passed upon their children. They 
coveted no more of the world than they saw 
about them. I think they scarce knew, in the 
passage of time, that there was else to the 
world than what they had. 

In time this became patriotism. It was 
their unwritten treason to wish for another 
country. 

This life, too, isolated in the deep heart of 
nature, had bred a habitude as simple as 
nature itself. They were true because they 
knew no falsehood. They were good because 
for them there was no evil. Wrong was the 
simple negation of right and needed no defin- 
ing for the simple. Each had the obsession 
of it. 

More and more precarious had their life be- 
come. In the last winter the ice had hung 
over them with an ominous menace. The 
current which was to bring their little sum- 


240 


THOR’S EMERALD 


mer was delayed very long, the fish were gone, 
and hunger come, so that they had begun to 
look each other in the eyes and ask : 

“ Brother in the Lord, is it now ? ” 

For this was with them always — this cer- 
tainty of their blotting out. 

But suddenly, almost in an hour, the sum- 
mer came. The fish returned with opulence. 
The ice receded with muttered curses. The 
streams fell down from it, the harvest grew, 
and there was a song on every happy lip. 

It was their last harvest. For, when it 
was gathered, and the winds were become 
chill, they hastened into the boats and out to 
sea, that they might have their winter’s fish 
before the glacier came back. 

All went who could, but Christof and 
Christine, who, though yearning to go, were 
commanded to remain and care for blind Agra 
and simple Lars, the old and the maimed and 
the little children. 

For, Brother in the Lord,” said the priest, 
when he had doffed his vestments and put 
on his smock, “ we may not return, and thy 
charge is, therefore, greater than ours. Be- 


THOR’S EMERALD 


241 


hold, I adjure thee, that thou care for them 
well.” 

And Christof answered that he would. 
Whereupon the priest put his arms about his 
shoulders and kissed his forehead, in their 
simple way, and said : 

“ As thou doest unto them, so will the Lord 
to thee. We trust in thee.” 

Christof again answered with assent. For 
always on their going forth was this charge 
committed to some one. 

But there was something greater yet. 

« And, more than all,” charged the priest, 
with solemn affection, “ we leave thee and 
Christine, that there may be successors in our 
land ; that the graves may be kept ; that un- 
til, in the time of God, this land shall be 
blotted from the earth by the ice, there shall 
be lips to praise Him, and souls to pray to Him. 
Life is a hard thing here, yea ! But it would 
not be so if God had not so ordained it. There- 
fore are we God’s children, therefore do we 
obey him. For had He no purpose in keeping 
us here, He would have found for us another 
land. Dost thou believe this ? ” 


242 


THOR’S EMERALD 


« All this I believe,” said Christof. 

“ Thou art the bravest, and Christine the 
most splendid, our little race has yet produced. 
We see in thee, again, all that our fathers 
were who lived amidst the ice, when the 
world was new. For that we save and keep 
thee, that the issue of your loins may be the 
noblest in our little world. But in thee we 
see ofttimes, with sorrow, the spirit of unrest. 
Thou hast said that thou wouldst wish to 
try thy brawn out in that world we know 
lies yonder. Thou hast said that thou art 
great as any there. That much is true. Yet 
be not deceived. There is no world for thee 
but this. There never can be. God in His 
thought designed it so. Thou canst not es- 
cape God’s purposes. Dost thou believe this, 
too ? ” 

And Christof bowed his head. 

“Wilt thou, then, obey the law, and keep 
and do all this which I have charged ? ” 

And Christof answered : 

“ Yea.” 

“ If thou dost not,” the priest said, “ I do 
fear the things that will come upon thee and 


THOR’S EMERALD 


243 


our land. Yet I am sure thou wilt. I go 
forth with an even heart. And all — all of 
thy brethren — go forth with peace in their 
hearts because of thee. And, now, farewell, 
and all the grace of God Almighty stay with 
thee, — so, farewell.” 

He kissed the head of Christof. 

And Christof answered, as the custom was : 

“Fare thee all well, my Brother in the 
Lord,” and kissed his head. 

“ Fare thee all well,” the priest said again. 
“ If we return no more, thou wilt be governor 
and priest, and father and mother to thy 
country — to the old and young, the simple 
and the maimed. And so, again, beloved 
Brother in the Lord, be faithful — and fare 
thee all well.” 

So they went forth to fish, and the sea rose 
mightily between them and the land, so that 
they came not back for many days. And, 
even then, their wrecked boats came in before 
them, wherefore, like a tender message in ad- 
vance of death, Christof and Christine knew. 

Yet, all came back, each one, as if at the 
end they would not be denied their land. 


244 


THOR’S EMERALD 


But on each face the purple hue of death 
had long since passed. And Christof and 
Christine, and Simple Olaf and blind Agra, 
and the little children, dug their graves on 
the mountain side. 


II 


WHEN THE SUMMER CAME AGAIN 

Now, when the little fickle summer came 
again, — and the next year it was splendid, — 
two young gentlemen sauntered up the sea 
road to Thor’s Emerald and inquired, in some- 
thing very like their language, for food and a 
guide into the mountain and the glacier. 

They got food, such as it was, — goat’s milk 
and fiad brod, — from Christine’s hands, and 
Christof was their guide — there was none else. 
And there could be none better. For his child- 
hood had been spent on the glacier and the 
mountain. He had begot a legend for each crag 
his fathers had neglected to provide with one. 

So he led the daring young gentlemen from 
the south up into the most sacred of his 
caves and eyries, and, in the doing, found a 
wondrous pleasure. They were his age and he 
loved them ; they loved him. 

He was the Viking to them — archaic as 
if born a thousand years before. Upon the 


245 


246 


THOR’S EMERALD 


mountain he was the animal snuffing rare 
air. Upon the glacier he was untamed 
liberty — unassailable as the nature in which 
it grew. Precisely these were the young 
travellers to him. For they filled the camp 
at twilight, and, long after it, the fantastic 
embers, with the magnificent ghosts of the 
world from which they came — of which 
Christof heard now first — treasuring every 
word. 

One evening as he came into camp with the 
wood he had hardly gathered for their even- 
ing fire, the rocks were echoing for the first 
time in their hoary existence “ The Star- 
Spangled Banner.” The Norseman did not 
understand the song, but he caught the 
spirit of the singers. The fire was not made. 
He leaned, rapt, against a crag, with bared 
head, while they sang it for him in his own 
language. After that they sang it often to- 
gether so that he learned it. And, now and 
then, it came back to them in his almost ter- 
rible Norsk words, where he shouted it to the 
listening mountains. It had taken an almost 
religious hold upon the guide’s fancy. 


THOR’S EMERALD 


247 


It was exactly a week when they returned. 
They ate once more of the little store of flad 
brod, were blessed by the blind Agra, and went, 
singing “ The Star-Spangled Banner,” back 
along the sea road, as they had come, loath to 
leave the young Viking who had stepped out 
of the tenth century for them. 

He watched them out of sight and then 
choked in his throat. For, at the waving of 
their hands, where the road was lost to view, 
all that largess of which they had com- 
muned was gone. He thought to run and fol- 
low them, but he heard a song — yet turned 
and strode the beach with a great exultation. 
The song came nearer, but not more rapidly 
than his resolution crystallized. And when 
she who sang came in sight of him, he was 
looking obliviously out upon the booming 
ocean, his hand above his eyes, as if trying 
to pierce the misty horizon which baffled his 
vision, and where lay that exulting world of 
liberty. 

And she who sung was glad to see him 
thus. For he was the goodliest being she had 
ever had in her heart. His tunic was a black 


248 


THOR’S EMERALD 


wolf’s skin — his legs were swathed in other 
skins — the fur turned in — and gartered with 
strips of furred hide — about his neck was a 
string of wolfs teeth — on his feet were huge 
shoes of skin such as his robe — his hair was 
fair and long — his head was never covered. 

She ceased her song and came before him. 
Yet he gazed. 

« Soul of my soul, what seest thou ? ” she 
asked. 

He came back with a sigh and smile for her. 

“ ‘ The Land of the Brave and the Home of 
the Free.’ ” 

Nay, for that thou wouldst look at thy 
feet. For thou standest on the land of the 
brave. And the home of the free is yonder.” 

“ The land of a despot,” he laughed, «« ask- 
ing all, giving naught.” 

“ Then thou art its despot — for it is thy 
land — thou art its king. Oh, it is small I 
grant ! But it is ours. No other land can 
ever be. Our fathers dying gave it to us.” 

See ! ” he cried, turning what the trav- 
ellers had given him into a prodigal golden 
shower from his scrip upon the ground. 


THOR’S EMERALD 


249 


“ What is it ? ” asked the girl. 

« Money. Gold ! Enough to take me to 
their land. They said so.” 

“ To their land ? You ? ” 

At once great fear fell on her. 

“ It is naught. A little journey by the 
sea road — a week — and one is there ! 
They come and go each summer. They will 
come again the next.” 

“ But thou — thou wilt not go ? ” 

“ I will,” he nodded. 

“ Forsake thy country ? ” 

« Yea.” 

“That was our fathers’ basest treason.” 

He laughed. 

“ And thou hast sworn to the priest — ” 

He laughed again. 

“ But evil will come from the breach of 
thy solemn oath — it must. God is not 
mocked.” 

“I have not said that I will break my 
oath, nor do a treason, beloved one,” he said. 
“ Can one not go and see this wondrous 
land ? ” 

“ Yea. But temptation is in thine eyes.” 


250 


THOR’S EMERALD 


He laughed and sighed and answered : 

“ Yea ! ” — fingering the strange coins. 

Then, tempting her also, he said : 

« Come with me thence ? ” 

u I ? » 

The one little word told him how impossible 
that was. 

“Yea, there are the old and blind and 
simple to be cared for. I forgot.” 

“ I covet not that land, my Christof,” said 
she, “ nor any other land than this.” 

“ Beloved,” said he, solemnly, “ our fate 
draws so near that I can see it. The ice 
can little longer be held back. And that is 
death to us and to our small land.” 

“ Yea,” said she, almost happily. 

“ Thou dost not wish to live ? ” 

“ I ? I would live forever, asking but one 
thing — thy love. Yet, I will die here will- 
ingly, because all that I know is here — 
all life — all death — all joy — all hope and 
fear. Why, it is not hard, dear love. We 
have been born to it. Each morning we 
look first up at the glacier to read if we 
shall live that day.” 


THOR’S EMERALD 


251 


“ Our fathers have done ill to keep us here. 
Ill to stay themselves. What is there here ? ” 

He swept the air with his hand. The sun 
was setting on the glacier. The mountain 
seemed all gold. The sea was saffron. 

She saw all this and said : 

« The very beauty of the Lord is here ! ” 

A glacier to bury us. Beloved, in a little 
time the ice will be where we stand. There 
will be no harvests. No fish. What then ? 
This has been threatened us for many years. 
But now it comes soon. All creatures but 
us have fled. And I must find ye first 
another land, then must ye all fly with me. 
And I will find it in this rich, this just, this 
righteous America. That is not wrong.” 

She hung her head and sighed. 

“ What is it in thy mind ? ” he asked. 

All her body fiushed in blushes as she 
answered : 

“Thou didst say that when the harvest was 
taken thou wouldst marry me.” 

“Yea,” he cried, touching her, “and that 
is now ! Come to Agra. And when we are 
married, thou thyself shalt send me forth to 


252 


THOR’S EMERALD 


seek a home for thee and them that hang 
on us — in this new land.” 

She was not glad for this, yet all her heart 
sung at being his wife. 

am so happy that I will not say thee 
nay to-day — though I would keep thee here 
to die and sleep upon the mountain with our 
fathers — though it were but a little while. 
Yet if thou wilt — why — yes, go — I send 
thee.” 

“ Ah, ah,” he cried, “ that is like the Vi- 
king ladies of the olden time ! This country 
where I go and all its boundlessness are mine 
and thine and all who come alike. And all 
its wealth and houses. I will go in haste, and 
when I have found a pretty nest for thee and 
all of us, I will come with yet more haste, 
and when the ice comes down take thee to 
it. And there I shall be king as here. For 
there every man is as a king. Have not the 
pleasant travellers told me so ? ” 

« Oh, Christo f, I cannot help my fear ! Yet 
thou shalt go ! ” 

“Look at these mighty hands,” he cried 
passionately, “ look at me ! Will there be any 


THOR’S EMERALD 


253 


braver there ? Will any outstrip me in the 
race for gold and all those things they seem 
to need out there ? Am I not great as they 
who went away to-day ? Yet they have con- 
quered that vast world. But a little time — 
think ! but a little waiting — and no more 
cold or hunger — fear or death. The little 
harvest and the fish now caught will give 
ye food for all the while I stay. And when 
I come again, yea we shall wait God’s word — 
But when the ice comes down we shall leave 
it rotting in its bins and go away to happi- 
ness. Come ! come to our marriage ! ” 

And so they went away with arms en- 
twined, and, singing, came to blind Agra, who 
married them. 


Ill 


TO THE LAND OF THE BRAVE 

Then came the day he was to go. They 
gathered up that money, yet lying on the shore, 
and put it in his scrip, and all was ready — he 
in his wolf-skin — she in her stole ; yet she 
trembled as with palsy in his arms. 

“ What ? Hast thou changed ? ” he laughed. 

“ Ah, ah,” she sighed, “ thou art my hus- 
band now ! I am a wife ! ” 

Tears would not flow she was so terrified. 
No sob rose in her throat. She only trembled 
in his arms. 

“Ah, this is not the lady of my dreams,” 
he said. “ Come ! come ! Out with thy shears. 
Give me a tress for talisman, as the ladies of 
our Vikings did, and send me forth. Let me 
not stay. Call me a coward that I go. 
Come ! come ! ” 

“ I cannot bid thee go,” she breathed ; “ my 
heart will not. Yea, we are poor and hungry 
here, sometimes, but stay with us thy kindred, 
264 


THOR’S EMERALD 


255 


who love thee and will stand with thee when 
dark days come. There thou wilt be alone ! 
A stranger in a land of strangers. Life is a 
hard thing here — yea — but stay and share 
it with us — make it not harder. Thou art 
brave — the bravest on the earth to me. 
That is why God hath left thee to care for us 
— of all those who are dead. Seest thou not 
His hand in this ? ” 

“ Yea.” 

“ Then must thou obey.” 

“ I see it not as thou. I see and hear God’s 
will in this longing for another land — in the 
coming of the travellers to tell me of it.” 

Her face grew solemn. 

« I did not think of that. How shallow is 
my thought I And selfish. I fear all selfish. 
Because I wish for thee to stay, my heart sees 
in each wish to go a sin against the God. And 
yet — and yet — it does not seem His will. 
Oh, husband, if it is, canst thou not make it 
plain to me who have little thoughts — thou 
with thy eagle thought ? ” 

«Nay — nay,” and he caressed her fondly. 
“ I have made thee sad. What ? A sad 


256 


THOR’S EMERALD 


bride? Even under the glacier? It shall 
not be ! ” 

But yet, the while she nestled in his arms, 
she begged : 

“ Yet, love, speak to my soul and make all 
plain to me.” 

« We will obey the God, my splendid one. 
I go now but to find a nest for thee and these 
when God Himself doth make this land im- 
possible.” 

Beloved, if God doth make this land im- 
possible, then is it His purpose that we shall 
cease with the land as we began. And that is 
just, as all God’s dealings are. Oh, it is 
ominous that thou a man, and I a woman, 
whom God made, should think to thwart His 
purposes in us or in this land ! Thou canst 
not change the purposes of God, beloved.” 

“ Does not God mean that we shall use the 
powers He gives us ? ” 

«Yea — where He points the way.” 

“And who points the way to me? Who 
puts these things into my brain ? ” 

This reasoning was better to her. And it 
all was new — so great a thought as that. 


THOR’S EMERALD 


257 


have not reasoned deep as that,” she 
said in awe. ‘‘ Surely, thy thought is greater 
and more reverent — than mine — as, indeed, 
a husband’s should be greater than a wife’s,” 
she said in pretty pride of him. “I try, just 
now, to think the travellers did put the 
purpose in thee. Yet, somewhere, no matter 
how it came to thee, it had beginning in the 
mind of God. I know not,” she whispered. 
“If thou thinkest it the will of God — thou 
shalt go. To Him all oaths and promises 
against His will are vanity and sin.” 

“ Beloved, if I stay, it will be alone to tread 
the mill and build me and thee a house yon- 
der with the dead. God does not desire 
that. That is our destiny — our only destiny. 
To be hungry — poor — naked — to starve — 
to waste — to be drowned in still waters — to 
sleep in decay yonder. If I go, the very world 
is mine and all it has. That is God’s will.” 

“I am thy joy, Christof,” pleaded his 
young wife. “ So thou hast often said. And 
I will give thee all my little life to make thee 
happy here. I think I can. Oh, we will be 
hungry — yea — and poor — but we will be 


258 


THOR’S EMERALD 


together. There is no other life for me. Is 
there for thee ? Together, Christof ! ” 

« I cannot go without thy well-wishing,’’ he 
smiled and caressed her ; “ but my wife will 
give me that and send me forth. She will 
not make me wear a young life out here that 
might be great and honored there. She has 
it in her splendid head that it will be for long 
and far. It is a week to the great land. A 
week to find a nest. A week to come again. 
Canst thou not wait and ward three weeks for 
paradise ? Could I fail, if that is in thy head, 
when it is for the helpless ones upon our hands 
and hearts and for — thee ? Now, for thy talis- 
man of success. I will preserve it from all harm 
and bring it back to thee. I swear it on this 
pretty hand. Thus did our ancestors go forth. 
Art thou less brave than they ? Am I ? ” 
There was a moment in which nothing was 
heard but the sullen beating of the waves. 
She was so sad that almost he was persuaded 
to renounce ambition for her love. But his eye 
caught the sun upon a distant sail. 

“ There ! ” cried he. “ It shall be as swift 
as that ! ” 


THOR’S EMERALD 


259 


Why, then, my husband, go. I think it 
is the good God prompts thee. Else thou 
couldst not go from us who need thee so. 
And, if ’tis He — why — He knows thy heart 

— and He will go with thee and keep thee, 
and bring thee back to us. Thou art our all. 
For that I pray. For that each night we all 
shall pray. So — Christof — go with God. 
And I, thy Christine — I will stay and keep 
thine oath for thee — here in our little land 

— I will not forsake one of the little ones — 
not one of the old or blind or maimed or 
simple ones. And I shall have joy in this — 
remember that ! Great joy shall I have in 
keeping thy oath for thee — to the priest — 
thy ancestors — thy God — until thou comest 
back to keep it once again thyself. Farewell, 
O sweetest lover ever woman had, farewell 
until thou comest back to me again ! ” 

She -took the brazen shears which hung at 
her belt and, cutting an unruly lock, she put 
it in his hands while her white lips moved in 
benediction. 

And so he went, looking last upon her at 
that turning of the road, and she, there, her 
last on him. 


IV 


THE HOME OF THE FREE 

There is a city which vaunts itself because 
in its laws oppression and injustice are not; 
where the popular shibboleth is freedom ; 
whence liberty throughout all the land hath 
of old been proclaimed ; where the proudest 
boast writ upon its monuments is of the sub- 
lime quality of its justice. 

A great bell booms the hour of ten, and 
at the last reverberation the judge of the 
Quarter Sessions of the Peace advances from 
his retiring room and takes his place upon the 
bench. The crier raps the chamber to silence 
and delivers the customary invitation of the 
Commonwealth to the Falstaffian company 
being marshalled into the receiving docks. 

“ Oyez ! oyez ! oyez ! All manner of per- 
sons who stand bound to appear before 
this honorable court, holden here this day, 
come forward, and ye shall be heard. And 


260 


THOR’S EMERALD 


261 


may God save the Commonwealth and this 
honorable court.” 

Instantly a felon starts forward to the 
bar. An officer restrains him. The bench- 
ers laugh. He has accepted the invitation of 
the Commonwealth too literally. He cannot 
come forward and be heard. 

The grand jury must first second the invi- 
tation of the State. 

This body now files into its place. 

“Gentlemen of the grand jury, have you 
any bills of indictment to present to the 
court ? ” the crier asks, and is rewarded with 
a considerable parcel. 

The clerk scrutinizes these, the court does 
likewise, and then they come into the hands 
of the prosecuting officer, who briskly takes 
one from the top and calls a name: 

“ Christof Nielsen ! ” 

Meanwhile, in seeming confusion, the grand 
jury is discharged and the petit jury called, 
and sworn. 

“You, and each of you, do swear that you 
will well and truly try, and a true deliverance 
make, between the Commonwealth and the 


262 


THOR’S EMERALD 


prisoner at the bar, whom you will have in 
charge, and a true verdict render, according 
to the evidence, so help you God.” 

Again the crier calls : 

« Put Christof Nielsen in the dock ! ” 

At the name a haggard face emerges from 
the herd in the dock. The head is hooped 
about with blood-stained bandages — the face 
is bruised and swollen — one arm hangs limp 
and helpless at his side — with the other he 
steadies himself at the spiked railing as he 
obeys the court officer’s gesture to stand. 

He no longer wears the wolfskin tunic — 
but a worn “sack-coat” too small for him. 
His neck and the circlet of wolf’s teeth are 
concealed by the collar of a flannel shirt. 
Trousers are on his legs instead of the skins 
and cross-garterings, and on his feet, where 
once were the great shoes of furred wolfskin, 
are hard shoes “ made in America,” which 
torture his feet. His hair has lost its sun- 
lustre and is cut short. In his hand he carries 
a small cloth cap. 

“Christof Nielsen,” reads the clerk, “you 
are charged in this bill of indictment with 


THOR’S EMERALD 


263 


the larceny of one silver watch, of the value 
of four dollars, the property of John Hall. 
How say you, guilty or not guilty ? ” 

The prisoner lifts his dull, sick eyes, for the 
first time, when the voice of the clerk ceases, 
and stares inquiringly at the officer at his 
side. 

“ Not guilty,” answers the officer for him. 

“Put him in the small dock,” commands 
the prosecuting officer, and the prisoner is 
marched, staggering, from the one dock to the 
other, the gate clangs to behind him, and he 
is upon his trial by his “ peers ” — the twelve 
“ good men and true ” yonder. 

There are no challenges. The prosecutor of 
the pleas challenges only for the Common- 
wealth, and the prisoner is not assisted by 
counsel. Instead, the Commonwealth’s officer 
opens his case to the jury. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, the charge is 
pocket picking. In the melee consequent 
upon the arrest the prisoner assaulted an offi- 
cer. For that, also, he is indicted upon a 
separate bill. I shall try both together. It 
will be for you to say upon such evidence as I 


264 


THOR’S EMERALD 


shall produce whether or not he is guilty and, 
if so, of which or both offences. Officer 
Gorman, take the stand.” 

Gorman is emulous to oblige the attorney 
for the State. 

‘‘You made this arrest. Tell the jury all 
about it.” 

There is much jockeying before Gorman is 
brought to his pace. He would wander into 
the enchanting by-paths of his adventure, to 
show his heroism. But the prosecuting officer 
will not permit this, and so the gist of his 
testimony is in this answer : 

“ I arrested that man there and run him 
in.” 

“ You searched him, of course, and what 
did you find ? ” 

“ These here.” 

He holds up a letter with a curl dangling 
from its broken end. 

The benchers laugh. 

“ Nothing else ? No watch ? ” 

“No. I expect he thro wed that into a 
sewer. They mostly do when we git after 
’em.” 


THOR’S EMERALD 


265 


Did he escape from you ? ” 

“ He tried to. I had to both club and 
shoot to git him. He’s strong.” 

“You were obliged to call for assistance ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Has he ever been arrested before ? ” 

“ Yes. Served a term of seven months live 
years ago.” 

“ Do you identify the man ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Let an officer inform the prisoner of his 
rights,” says the district attorney, in the 
meantime calling Officer Jaspar to the stand. 

The “rights” of the prisoner are to cross- 
examine the witness. The officer who gives 
him this information must lift the prisoner’s 
wounded head from his bosom to do it. And, 
when he releases it again, it returns there. 

Officer Jaspar is the one who assisted Gor- 
man to make the arrest, and, when he can be 
brought into his narrative, knows nothing 
which Gorman does not. He, however, had 
also used his club and his pistol to subdue 
the prisoner. 

“ It seems to me,” cries the Common- 


266 


THOR’S EMERALD 


wealth’s officer, “that it took an extraordi- 
nary quantity of shooting and clubbing to 
take one man.” 

“ He’s a big un ! ” grins the witness. 

“You seem to have used your pistols 
first ? ” 

“Yes,” admits the officer. 

“You are the prosecutor,” says the district 
attorney to Mr. Hall, when he is brought to 
the stand. “We have not, thus far, proved 
that a watch was taken out of your possession 
by this man, and without that I shall not ask 
for a conviction. Are you sure that it was ? ” 

“ Perfectly certain, sir,” answers Mr. Hall. 

“ Well, tell the facts as briefly as possible 
to the jury,” says the law officer, whose hope 
of an early adjournment and some golf begins 
to grow doubtful. 

“Well, sir, I first saw the man at Chestnut 
and Tenth streets. He was walking fast, 
talking to himself, and he staggered. He ran 
against me and said something I could not 
understand, then went on rapidly down Chest- 
nut Street. A moment after, when I looked 
what time it was, my watch was gone.” 


THOR’S EMERALD 


267 


“ And the chain — was there a chain ? ” 

“ Yes, that was gone, too.” 

“ Broken ? ” 

“ No, the whole chain was taken.” 

Are you sure of that ? It is not easy for 
a thief to do.” 

“ I am quite sure of that.” 

« Then, that’s my case,” yawns the happy 
officer of the forum. “ I shall play golf at 
Bala this afternoon till six,” he says to his 
assistant. 


V 


THE QUALITY OF JUSTICE 

A YOUNG man sitting at the counsel table, 
and grown diffident the moment he finds him- 
self on his feet, rises to address the court. 

“If the court pleases,” he begins, and the 
court awakes with a start from a revery of 
dinner. 

“ Eh ? Who is he ? ” the court whispers to 
the district attorney. 

The officer scowls back and answers that he 
does not know. 

The young man has heard. 

“ I am John Forrest, if the court pleases, 
admitted yesterday.” 

“ Precisely, sir,” smiles the court, icily ; “ but 
you are interrupting the trial of a cause. 
Your motion will have to wait until it is con- 
cluded — unless it is imperative.” 

“ It is imperative,” says the young lawyer. 

“ Ah, then, proceed,” says the judge, “ and 
pray be brief.” 


268 


THOR’S EMERALD 


269 


“ I ask leave to conduct the defence of the 
prisoner. I know him — I know his language 
— I believe him innocent.” 

The prosecuting officer leaps to his feet. 

“ What this extraordinary young gentleman 
lelieves is of no consequence to us, your honor. 
Let him appear for the prisoner — if the 
prisoner wishes to have it so. I should con- 
sider it extra hazardous. The constitution 
countenances this sort of aberration, how- 
ever, so I suppose we must suffer it — though 
the case is at an end.” 

The district attorney calculates that he will 
be a half-hour late at the links. The court 
nods his assent, and takes up the fascinating 
menu which has been sent over to him from 
the Union League, to whet his appetite upon. 
He will dine there to-night with the witty 
Grover Club. 

The young lawyer has addressed a few 
words to the prisoner and has taken his hand. 
Instantly the inert head rises. The fires of 
life and hope once more light the eyes for an 
instant. His tongue is loosed. He is the 
Viking again — the lion at bay. The young 


270 


THOR’S EMERALD 


lawyer assures him with the overconfidence of 
youth that all will be well. That they have 
proved nothing. 

At once the eyes are dull again, the head 
droops as before. 

Ah, they ! It is the doom of God. They 
are only instruments of God. I do not hate 
them. I hate them no more than I should 
hate the axe of the executioner. Last night — 
and, yea, for many nights I saw Estan, the 
priest. I heard him say again : ‘ I do fear the 
things that will come upon thee and our 
land ! ’ Go I It is the doom of God ! ” 

At this moment the district attorney, see- 
ing his time for golf being dissipated, says to 
the court : 

“ If your honor pleases, unless the defence 
is ready to proceed at once, I shall ask your 
honor to give the case to the jury on its de- 
fault.” 

Forrest takes his place. 

“ I recall all the witnesses for the Common- 
wealth for cross-examination,” says the young 
lawyer to the court. 

“ Object ! ” shouts the district attorney, on 


THOR’S EMERALD 


271 


his feet at once. « The prisoner failed to take 
advantage of this right when it was offered to 
him and his counsel sat idly by. It is too 
late now. I won’t try the case all over 
again.” 

“ I think,” says the smiling court, « that I 
shall permit this. It is not your right, sir,” 
— to the counsel for the prisoner — ‘‘but the 
easiest way is the best, in law as well as — 
elsewhere.” 

He smiles down upon the district attorney, 
as if he were saying : 

“You will get your game the sooner, I will 
get my dinner hot.” 

“ Proceed ! ” is all the officer of the Com- 
monwealth has to say. 

It is the young counsel’s first examination 
of a witness. 

“ Officer Gorman,” he says, with a child’s 
savagery, “yi — you were here — bif — be- 
fore ? ” 

“ Sure ! ” answers the officer, with a grin, 
and now the gentlemen of the bar laugh with 
the benchers, and even the court lays down 
the gilt menu and smiles broadly. 


272 


THOR’S EMERALD 


But, these things are good. They crowd 
upon the young champion of the prisoner a 
tremendous sense of the responsibility he has 
assumed. He addresses the court foolishly 
but seriously : 

“ I shall beg in advance the indulgence of 
the court. I have never before tried a case. 
I shall make some blunders in trying this one. 
But, sir, I have undertaken, here, upon the 
instant, without preparation, the defence of 
that priceless thing — a man’s liberty — nay, 
his life ! For he is sick and hopeless unto 
death. And, unless he is taken from this 
court to an hospital, upon our hands will be 
not only his liberty but his life. Sir, I have 
been taught, I am sure this court has been 
taught, before it ascended the three steps 
which lead to the bench, that liberty is a 
holy thing. That it is a nobler quest, in this 
forum, to stand its champion than in that 
other to contend for those priceful things 
which may be measured in money. Am I 
wrong, sir, to do this? Do the gentlemen 
of the bar laugh for that reason ? If they 
laugh at me, in God’s name let them do so. 


THOR’S EMERALD 


273 


But, let no one laugh at such a solemn spec- 
tacle as this — Look ! Look at the man ! 
Look about ! Was ever man save He that 
suffered on the cross so friendless and 
alone ? such a stranger among strangers ? ” 

“ Proceed ! ” shouts the district attorney. 
The court nods in assent. 

“ When your opportunity comes, Mr. — 
Mr. — ” 

“ Forrest,” prompts the lawyer. 

— to address the jury, they may be inter- 
ested in — er — your views — upon — er — 
liberty. The court — has — er — heard them 
often. Proceed, sir, with your witness.” 

Under this brutality John Forrest has be- 
come the steady practitioner of a dozen years. 

You know nothing about this watch, or 
its taking ? ” 

« No.” 

Then why did you arrest him ? ” 

“ On complaint of Mr. Hall.” 

“ You had no warrant ? ” 

« No.” 

The lawyer turns to the court. 

<< Upon the testimony of the man who made 


274 


THOR’S EMERALD 


the arrest it was an illegal seizure. He must 
have had a warrant unless he saw the com- 
mission of the offence. I move his discharge 
from custody.” 

Object,” said the district attorney, and 
the court instantly rules the objection sus- 
tained. 

“ Proceed, sir.” 

<<Then, I ask the court to rule upon the 
question of whether or not the prisoner was 
justified in resisting an illegal arrest.” 

The district attorney objects again, and the 
court again frankly sustains him. The easiest 
way is certainly being proved the best — for 
him. 

Nothing is developed from the other wit- 
nesses, who repeat their testimony. The 
prosecutor remembers distinctly having his 
watch, though he knew nothing of its taking. 

Then the young champion puts the prisoner 
upon the stand. Now, if God’s pity ever de- 
scends to temper the rigor of human judg- 
ment, here is its invocation — 

His story is little and simple as his counsel 
translates it. 


THOR’S EMERALD 


275 


He had arrived in the city three days be- 
fore. He gave a runner his last money to 
procure him work, but he did not return. 
And he waited and hungered and walked the 
streets, neither sleeping nor eating. He stag- 
gered against the prosecutor — yes — blindly 
— in an agony — he apologized — but the 
man called out — officers came — they shot 
at him — he fell — and then he opened his 
eyes as they saw him — bloody — maimed in 
a prison — 

Then there is something which the young 
attorney hesitates to translate until he is 
charged with concealing testimony which will 
injure his case : 

“ ‘ It is the doom of God,’ ” he repeats then. 
« ‘ God meant me to stay and die in the ice. 
But I defied His purposes and came here. 
God is taking His vengeance. It is useless. 
These things are come upon me and my coun- 
try because of sin. I must suffer them. 
They must. It is the doom of God ! ’ ” 

“ Oh ! Is he that sort ? ” laughs the dis- 
trict attorney, and the benchers laugh with 
him. 


276 


THOR’S EMERALD 


The court declines to be amused. It takes 
time to be amused. And he has none to 
spare — before dinner. 

The prosecuting officer, with a significant 
smile, declines to cross-examine, and so far as 
the Commonwealth is concerned, submits the 
case without argument to the jury. His 
assistant questions the propriety of this. 

“ Always wins,” he laughs. « The jury 
think either that it is not worth while, or 
that I think it safe, and agree accordingly. 
Juries haven’t much mind, you know. Be- 
sides, think of those idle golf sticks ! ” They 
laugh together. «And, further, it will flab- 
bergast the doughty champion of the foreign 
gentleman. He won’t know how to begin — 
since he will have nothing of mine to answer 
or suggest.” 


VI 


THE FOOLISHNESS OF PREACHING 

This seems true. Forrest knows the trick, 
and now he rises with manifest fear and 
trembling. 

“ Although the Commonwealth does not 
care to address you,” he says, “ I conceive it 
my dut}^ to do so — ” 

“ I told you he would be caught, ” whis- 
pers the district attorney to his assistant, in 
glee. « There is only one counter to that 
trick, and that is to submit your own case. 
Then the jury is compelled to think that the 
defence has as much or more confidence in its 
case than the Commonwealth. For it has 
more to gain from a speech.” 

“ — It is not proven that a watch has been 
stolen, nor that an officer was assaulted, yet 
that is exactly and only what the prisoner is 
charged with. All that is proven is that a 
man had a watch before he collided with the 


277 


278 


THOR’S EMERALD 


prisoner, and that he did not have it afterward. 
The law in its mercy has provided that every 
man shall be presumed innocent until he is 
proven guilty — jproven^ remember ! — not 
guessed guilty — ” 

His address is now, unfortunately, to the 
court, who is getting more and more hungry. 

« Why, sir, if anybody be guilty here, I am 
the one. But a short while ago I was his 
guest in that little kingdom hedged by the 
mountain and the glacier. I sang to him the 
stirring songs of our country. Those songs of 
which the theme is liberty alone ! I thrilled 
his very soul with the tales of its freedom and 
justice and equality. I watched his nostrils 
expand at the words of our great battle-hymn. 
I beguiled him here with these things — 
though I did not mean to. And he came — 
to you, Columbia, land of the brave, who hold 
out your arms to all the nations of the earth 
and cry Come! You — you — who invited 
him ! And you meet him with pistol and 
club and shackles ; the home of the free is a 
prison ! He begs for a crust, and you give him 
a bullet. And what has he done ? He has 


THOR’S EMERALD 


279 


but entered the door you hold open to him. 
And what will you do ? Sick, wounded, and 
miserable — in peril of his life — at your own 
hands — what is your verdict? He is in your 
keeping. And as you hope for mercy at the 
great day, as you respect the sanctity of your 
oath, deal in justice and mercy with this 
stranger who has come within your opened 
gates — ” 

“ One of the difficulties of the young lawyer 
is to know when he is done,” says the dis- 
trict attorney, slyly, leaning his elbow on the 
bench and speaking to the judge. 

The judge nods in a certain gastric irrita- 
tion which is not well for either the prisoner 
or his counsel, but answers nothing. 

“ And to cease from college orations in 
a court of law. Somewhere these things 
should be taught as part of the law course. 
I am not aware that they are.” 

The champion perspires and plunges on — 
when he had better stop — as any one but 
he — even the meanest of the benchers — can 
see. 

« And there are others in your — keeping, 


280 


THOR’S EMERALD 


beyond that moaning sea — beside that deso- 
late mountain — by that frozen glacier — on 
that little spot of earth where the ice always 
threatens. There they sit desolated — by the 
graves of their kindred — waiting for him. 
For he came to make a home for them. Will 
you send him back to them ? Will you send 
them even the wreck you have made of him ? 
So that he may die there and lie with his 
fathers ? So that he may once more embrace 
his young wife ? Touch the hand of blind 
Agra? Make smile again simple Lars?” 

The advocate pauses a moment and his face 
grows stern with the duty he has set himself. 

“ He thinks the doom of God is upon him. 
But it is the doom of the American system. 
The doom of the American administration 
of justice. The doom of the American jury 
— which gives never the verdict of twelve, 
but of four or three or two — most often of 
one. In this day of reason verdicts should 
be the result of reason. But they are, as 
they were in the Middle Ages, the result of 
force. Twelve men are imprisoned together 
until seven men yield to five. Not because 


THOR’S EMERALD 


281 


the five have better reasons, but because they 
are stronger — either in mind or body. Be- 
cause they can better endure privation and 
hunger and segregation. Five are set to prey 
upon seven in a place they cannot escape 
from until the morality of the seven is suffi- 
ciently broken and corrupted to vote, not for 
the righteousness of justice, but for release 
from incarceration. And this the judges per- 
mit because they must hurry. Because the 
hours are fixed from ten to three — and be- 
cause in that time twenty-five causes must be 
heard. Because officers of courts are politi- 
cians and must work — after hours — for the 
party. Because, in short, everything is well 
considered in a court but the securing of 
exact justice. And in small cases such as 
this — where it is a foreigner who does not 
understand us or our language or procedure — 
what does it matter ? He is a foreigner any- 
how. This is the doom he faces and which 
every one must face — until our courts con- 
cern themselves with but the one thing for 
which they are — the administration of jus- 
tice — the discovery of truth ! ” 


282 


THOR’S EMERALD 


The district attorne}^ sighs and knows that 
neither the young advocate nor his cause nor 
his client has a friend within hearing now. 
As for him, he is indifferent, and would 
gladly see the man acquitted could he but 
get away to his game. What profit or honor 
is there in so small a case as this ? 

« Are you that kind of a jury ? Is this 
that kind of a court ? Is this the kind of 
victim who has come here for sacrifice time 
out of mind ? Can this man’s life and liberty 
be trusted to you? Is there a man among 
you — five — six — twelve — who can stop and 
think only of this poor captive ? Can you so 
far escape from the American system as to 
consider pure justice and nothing else ? Dare 
you imagine yourselves in his place and then 
consider what you would do — what you 
would wish done by the twelve who sit 
where you do ? Have you the courage to 
treat this as you would treat a ‘ great ’ case ? 
— with many < great ’ attorneys ? Dare you 
defy the court — the district attorney — the 
laughter of these idlers — and send this man 
back to his home ? I am asking much — I 


THOR’S EMERALD 


283 


know that. It is revolution to disagree from 
the court — to offend the district attorney. 
But I do so now and shall always.” 

And now fear and embarrassment have 
fled from the young advocate and he is in- 
formed only with his great theme. His voice 
suddenly rings and thunders about the walls, 
so that the judge sits uncomfortably up and 
the benchers lean forward, and even the gen- 
tlemen of the bar are silent. 

“And if you will not send him back to 
them, what message will you send ? You 
cannot escape. You must do one or the 
other. And one will be infamy, the other 
will be as the grace of the Lord. Listen, 
each man of you twelve ! It is a command- 
ment you hear. Something more than myself 
is speaking through me. And look ! Look at 
him, each one of you ! For you are writing 
your own glorification or your own damnation 
in the sentence of this humble captive. I say 
to you, in the presence of God, that you can- 
not escape your duty. If you will not send 
this remnant of a man you have wounded 
home to his country, what message will you 


284 


THOR’S EMERALD 


send — to them that wait and wait and 
wait? You! You twelve! Hope, joy, bread, 
feasting, life ? Or the sullen clang of the 
prison door — the horrid, shuddering clang — 
which is a knell of death ? For your verdict, 
whether you will it so or not, means life or 
death not only to him who is chained there 
before you — but to them!” 

A juror shakes his head in protest — a 
thing which the fatuous pleader should re- 
gard. But he speaks an answer instead : 

“ I tell you I know. For I have seen. 
There are aged heads bent low by misfortune 
— there are little children, there is a wife — 
young and fair and red-lipped. Do you con- 
demn them to hunger — to cold — to slow 
death — these, huddled together, waiting — 
waiting — in the long gray polar night — for 
your word of fate, or do you send to them life 
and hope and joy? I ask you, before God, 
what message do you send ? They are in 
your keeping as irrevocably as he is!” 


VII 


TO A HIGHER TRIBUNAL 

Counsel for the prisoner sits down over- 
come by his own evocation of emotion. The 
more somnolent jurors scowl at him. He 
has made them uncomfortable. The court, 
now having control of the matter, hastens the 
adjournment. 

“ Gentlemen, you will find the prisoner not 
guilty of assaulting an officer. It is not fully 
proven. As to the charge of larceny, if you 
find that he took the watch out of the posses- 
sion of the prosecutor, as he seems to think, 
he is guilty, and I instruct you to find him so. 
Otherwise, acquit him. If you are in doubt, 
acquit him. You have been told that there is 
no evidence of the larceny. That is for you, 
not counsel, to say.” 

The jury, thinking from this that it is not 
much of a case, consult a moment, and are 
ready with their verdict — while the court 
286 


286 


THOR’S EMERALD 


taps the bench impatiently with the gilt 
menu. The crier asks for the verdict : 

“Gentlemen of the jury, how say you? Is 
the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty ? ” 

“ Guilty, with a recommendation to the 
mercy of the court,” answers the foreman, 
yawning. 

John Forrest rises to his feet, not know- 
ing, in his confusion, what he ought to do. 

“ If the court pleases,” he begins, “ I had 
expected another verdict. But since — ” 

“Your duty is done, sir,” smiles the chilly 
court, “and well done. I congratulate you, 
sir.” Then he turns to the jury. “ Gentle- 
men, I cannot pass your recommendation to 
mercy lightly. I shall not forget it. It is 
better that ten guilty men escape than that 
one suffer innocently. I am now in a trifle 
of a hurry. I shall suspend sentence until I 
can think your recommendation well over. 
Crier, adjourn the court.” 

The district attorney had his golf. 

The judge had his witty dinner. 

The recommendation to mercy was for- 
gotten. 


THOR’S EMERALD 


287 


The sentence of the court was never passed. 

A higher tribunal claimed jurisdiction. 

Christof Nielsen died in his cell. 

John Hall sent this note to the judge on 
the same day : 

“ My watch was in the pocket of my Sun- 
day vest. I forgot to change it on Monday. 
Have that young man set free. I am sorry.” 

“ Let him be discharged as soon as pos- 
sible,” said the righteous judge to the district 
attorney, flinging the note on his desk. 

But death is swifter than justice when 
her wheels turn backward. 


VIII 


THE SHADOWS OF DEATH 

Over the sea, many months after, a runner 
brings a letter to those who sit beside a 
failing rushlight. The faces are too white 
— the eyes too brilliant for well-nourished 
bodies. Signs of wolfish poverty abound. 
They are but three. The rest are dead of 
hunger. One is old and blind. Upon his 
pathetic face the shadow of death has passed. 
Another has the smile of the simple — tor- 
tured into pain by the tight-drawn lines of 
want. Another is young and fair — yes — 
still young and fair — but not red-lipped now. 
For these many months which might all be 
years they have borne together the weariness 
of this watching and cold and hunger. The 
ice hangs just above their small thatch now, 
and the sea is at the door. Yet more than 
the hunger of their bodies — more than the 
cold and terror — have been the hunger and 


288 


THOR’S EMERALD 


289 


the cold and the terror of their souls. They 
have prayed God with agony to let their cup 
pass. Is there to be no word ? No sign ? 
If God wills — yes. They have both trusted 
and doubted God. 

Yet now they repent. Here, in this letter, 
is the answer to their prayers. After all 
God is righteous — altogether righteous ! Is 
it to bid them come ? Is it to tell them when 
he will come? If the first, they will go in 
haste — for the ice is close, as he foretold. 
God has spoken. If the last, he must take 
them quickly, or the ice will come. 

They gather a little closer about the dying 
light. The blind one clasps his hands hard 
on his staff to stop their shaking. The 
simple face is all one ghastly smile. The 
wan one — wiping her dry eyes where there 
should be tears — kneels before them, and 
with a quivering supplication breaks the seal. 
Her face is as ashes. She has not a word 
in her dry throat. The writing is not his. 
At her silence a shiver creeps over the blind 
one. The simple one smiles anew. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” he says, “ I am hungry ! ” 


290 


THOR’S EMERALD 


The enclosure falls into the lap of the wan 
one. A short note in a stranger hand — that 
unruly curl she cut for him the day he went 
— an old letter of her own, beginning with 
a love word. The note tells a brief story 
ending in death. 

There is nothing more. These are the 
tidings. This is the answer to their prayers. 

Yet still they sit there — like ghosts — until 
their stony eyes are fixed — until the smile 
on the simple face passes into eternal calm — 
until the rushlight dies, and pitying darkness 
falls. 

When the fickle northern summer comes 
again it lingers wonderingly about the idle 
cottage doors, fixed close in the ice, pausing at 
one with the reverence which befits the unclos- 
ing of a tomb. It stays for but a little day, then 
flies before the conquering ice and comes no 
more. 

Yet, that tomb, far out toward the eternal 
ice cap, where the cottage is in the embrace 
of the ice, was “ made in America,” the land of 
the brave and the home of the free — while 
the gentlemen of the bar and the benchers 


THOR’S EMERALD 


291 


laughed, and in that city whose proudest boast 
is of the sublime quality of its justice — be- 
cause a judge was impatient for his dinner — 
because a prosecuting officer would play golf. 
Was it wrong ? And who will right the 
wrong ? And where will it be righted ? Is 
there a forum for such causes as these ? And 
who will be punished for it ? The judge — 
the jury — the district attorney — all of them ? 





GUILE 


GUILE 


I 

CHILLY WISDOM 

“Gt^ile,” said John Estover, savagely, to 
his wife, “is as communicable as — as — 
tuberculosis ! ” 

“Yes, John,” sighed his wife. 

“ And when there is a predisposition to it 
— . segregation is absolutely imperative.” 

“Yes — yes! But I confessed my frivoli- 
ties before the Great Meeting, and they prayed 
for me in our silent fashion — and said : Go 
in peace ! Does thee remember ? ” 

Estover’s face relaxed a trifle. 

“ I meant our child.” 

“We were bride and groom then, John,” 
his little wife whispered, on seeing his soft- 
ening. 

She did not see, though, that he had at once 
forbidden the softness to his face, and went on. 


295 


296 


GUILE 


“You didn’t care then that I was French 
and had a most unquakerish name — ” 

“Say ‘thee,’ please, Ann (her name was 
Jeanne), and when thee thinks ‘Quaker’ say 
Friend.” 

“Yes, John.” 

It is true that the smiles the thought of 
her bridehood brought had gone from her face 
with the sigh which followed. But another 
smile was there — for him. For she knew 
perfectly what was beneath this ecclesiastical 
chill. The very man who had been her bride- 
groom, and had never been anything else. 

“ Some people blame it on heredity — their 
poor parents ; some upon temperament. But 
it is neither thee nor me now. I think it is 
nothing but temptation — the getting into 
contact with evil — just as that is necessary 
to contract tuberculosis.” 

“ But, John,” smiled the wife, “ I was a 
wicked little girl when thee found me in 
Paris — ” 

“ And saved thee ! ” thundered John. 

“Yes, John. Wasn’t it queer that I should 
like thee with no collar on thy coat? At 


GUILE 


297 


first I think it was because thee was so dif- 
ferent — so very strong thee seemed.” 

“ It proves,” said John, with chilly wisdom, 
« that if evil is communicable, goodness, also, 
is, and that it is stronger than evil.” 

“ But what, then, brought thee to the 
theatre, where I danced ? I had never be- 
fore seen a Quaker there — I had never before 
seen one anywhere.” 

She laughed happily. 

“I had heard of thee — thy grace and 
beauty — and I desired to know if God per- 
mitted such gifts to be so sadly used.” 

“ And then ? ” 

“ After I saw thee I wished to save thee.” 

‘‘Thank thee, my dear, dear John.” 

“ I think, Ann,” said John Estover, reflec- 
tively, “ that I am not telling the exact truth. 
There is such a thing, thee knows, as telling 
the truth without exactness.” 

“ Oh, yes,” admitted his wife with an alac- 
rity which would have alarmed any one less 
good than her husband. 

“ I have often supposed that the exact truth 
is, that, travelling to cure an illness becomes, 


298 


GUILE 


when the illness is cured, a travelling for 
pleasure. This, I fear, was my sinful state 
when I reached wicked but beautiful Paris. 
I was, therefore, the prey of all temptation. 
And no temptation, we are told, is so potent 
as woman. Observe the matter of Adam and 
Eve, then Rahab and Jezebel — and, indeed, 
countless instances, where good men have 
fallen by the way at the beckoning of a 
woman. I think, Ann dear, that perhaps the 
world, the flesh, and the devil had an undue 
grip upon my soul there in Paris, and that I 
was saved by suddenly seeing what it had 
made of thee. It was an example I shall 
never forget. Nor shall I ever cease to return 
thanks for its outcome.” 

“Nor I, John dear,” laughed his little wife, 
with an incontinent embrace. 

“There, there,” said John, putting her off 
tenderly. “Yet — it all remains to us in this 
one greatest difficulty of our lives — this keep- 
ing from our child the history of thy life. 
But I am convinced that it is best. A daughter 
must respect and look up to her mother. She 
must seem to her to have always been im- 


GUILE 


299 


maculate. And this could not be if she knew 
all about thee. She would not understand 
how well thee has redeemed thyself. She 
would despise thee, and thy precepts would be 
of little avail. Yet must thou continue thy 
exhortations to good.” 

Ann smiled. The unwisdom of husbands 
kept him from the knowledge that these ex- 
hortations were made in each other’s arms. 
This the mother not only thought likely to be 
most effective, but much more lovely than 
any other way. 

She threatened a caress. 

«Yes — yes,” said John, suppressing a sus- 
picious movement of the arms toward her. 
“ But it is of Mary Ann. She is of an age. 
And she is as pretty as thee — in that day 
thee speaks of. Therefore watch that she 
enter not into any temptation.” 

‘‘ Such as thee was to me ? ” laughed his 
wife. “ Oh, John ! ” 

And this time John did not resist her. 

“I meant our child,” said he softly, “not thee.” 

Now all of this might have been said con- 
cerning one Doctor John Rem, of whom they 


300 


GUILE 


had never heard. And John Estover might 
have added that, when two people predis- 
posed to what he had called guile met, one as 
tempter, one willing to be tempted, the dan- 
ger was excessive. 

Nay, had he known this Doctor Rem, he 
would have taken every precaution that he 
and his daughter Mary Ann should not meet. 
For Rem had left behind at college an exam- 
ple for the emulation of sophomore hoodlums. 

And now, just returned from college, filled 
with really valuable learning concerning dis- 
ease, but having no practice at all and much 
idleness, it was exceedingly dull and he ex- 
ceedingly ready for amorous experiment. And 
you may be sure that if it should happen to 
come in the shape of a pretty Quaker, it would 
be only a little more piquant. 

All these sayings are necessary — though, I 
admit, somewhat dull — that you may under- 
stand the doings between this very doctor and 
this very Quaker maid. For you cannot sup- 
pose that I have them both in the same story 
for any other purpose than such troublous joys 
as make up that curious thing called love. 


II 


PATCHOULY 

Now k happened that while their discussion 
was at this point, the subject of it arrived. 
She did not at all come as a Quaker maiden 
ought, but like a breeze when the door is let 
suddenly open. And, indeed, in the coming, 
she had left the door open. 

Her father solemnly closed it. 

Meanwhile she had pounced upon her mother 
and kissed her, and now she attacked her 
father in the same way. 

“Thank thee, daddy,” she laughed, and 
when he put her off, none too strongly, she 
ran up the stairs, still laughing, whence she 
called downward for her mother. 

John stopped Ann as she would have gone, 
and, sniffing stealthily, pointed with his glasses 
up the stairs, saying ominously : 

“ Perfume ! ” 

She sniffed and smiled. 

301 


302 


GUILE 


« Patchouly I ” she murmured. “ John, it 
is my fault. I told her some things about 
myself the other day. They made us both 
very happy. I must tell some one. I think 
I mentioned patchouly. I thought it was 
extinct. What a time she must have had 
getting it!” 

John frowned. 

“Yea, yea — she takes after thee.” 

“ And is that so bad — as long as it is only 
kisses and perfume ? ” 

He had sat quite hopelessly in his chair, 
with his head turned. Before he could resist, 
her arms were about him and she had kissed 
him and was gone to the steps. There she 
paused — on the third step — looking as she 
had looked long ago — she never seemed to 
get older — as John thought she ought — and 
called : 

“ John!” 

Her husband looked. And, looking, he had 
to smile. No one could have helped doing 
that. 

“ John, I love thee, anyhow ! ” 

And she rebelliously and defiantly sniffed 


GUILE 


303 


the perfume and ran up the stair — precisely 
as Mary Ann had done. 

“Takes after her mother,” he sighed — 
and smiled. 

For another thought had come with the 
smile. 

“ Or does her mother take after her ? ” 

At this moment a double laugh came down 
the stair. And he, down there, answered it. 
So that you will understand that John Est- 
over, Friend and Overseer, and John Estover, 
Husband, were very different individuals. 

Upstairs it was hard to distinguish one 
from the other of these two pretty women — 
which was daughter, which mother — for 
they were locked in a laughing, weeping em- 
brace, and the one was showing the other a 
long-necked, old-fashioned bottle, labelled 

“ PATCHOULY.” 

Well, she was like her mother, and so, when 
I describe the one, you will see the other. The 
daintiest of retro uss^ noses, eyes entirely too 
large for her face, a mouth that would smile 
her very thoughts — and sometimes, tell them 


304 


GUILE 


— a curiously deep dimple in her chin. But 
for her attire no one would have thought her 
a subdued Quaker. Yet upon that even the 
little mother insisted. 

“ First,” she said, your father wishes it. 
Second, you will never be so pretty in any- 
thing else. Dearie, you make me think of a 
blush rose hidden in the heart of a lily every 
time I look into your bonnet. Think what 
a surprise that will be to your prince that day 
he comes ! To look into the prim, gray bon- 
net and find — you ! ” 

And she kissed what she found there. 

“And, oh, my beloved, there are ways and 
ways! Men must be managed and women 
must be pretty — and both are possible — 
even in Quaker garments.” 

“ My beloved 1 ” cried the one. 

“ My sweet Marian ! ” responded the other. 

Whereby you will know what even John 
Estover did not know concerning his wife and 
child — that they had changed the fearful name 
he had chosen, to the next best thing they 
could devise, and keep the faith. For, in her 
“ management ” of J ohn Estover and his affairs. 


GUILE 


305 


the little French woman kept so close to the 
thing he insisted upon, that when her innova- 
tions were discovered, as they sometimes were, 
they were considered venial instead of crimi- 
nal — and this is just the difference between 
wisdom and folly. For, upon one occasion, 
when he had said : 

“ What was that — Marian ? ” 

His little wife had answered : 

“ Mary I — Ann ! ” making each a staccato 
note, and adding, “Will I never speak the 
English?” 

She spoke the language perfectly. 


Ill 


THE CALYXLIKE BONNET 

Now it was into this lily calyx that the 
unregenerate Doctor John Rem looked one 
day, with precisely the emotions which the 
mother of Mary Ann had foretold — though, 
of course, he had not time to formulate them 
with such beauty. It was only a moment. 
And he was bewildered. 

And the wonder of it was that he had 
found her with the wife of his friend Jam, 
whom they both called Bell-Bell, for no better 
reason than that her name was Belle, and that 
she was the wisest and brightest and best of 
young wives and comrades — even though 
that does sound like a certain hymn. 

In heaven’s name, Bell-Bell, what does it 
mean ? ” 

Mrs. Jam became mysterious. 

“ Little boys must be seen, not heard.” 

I am not a little boy. Observe the bald 
spot on my head.” 


306 


GUILE 


307 


“Any unmarried man is as a little boy 
concerning women, be he as old as you. 
Moral : Get married. And I wish you would 
hurry. I can’t employ you till you do. 
And until I employ you, you will have no 
patients.” 

Doctor Rem laughed good-naturedly. 

“ Well, you know, I have such an awful 
reputation for being a brute — ” 

“ She has never heard of you. I have been 
too ashamed.” 

“ But she will. There’s that horrible story 
of my having crippled Leggett. Some of the 
newspapers said I killed him, and that story 
still survives. She couldn’t miss that ! ” 

Rem sighed hopelessly. 

“ She doesn’t read the newspaper — it isn’t 
permitted in Quaker families, you know, until 
it has been expurgated. Then it has lost all 
interest for her, and her mind will fix itself 
only upon the holes where the awful things 
have been excised. Once or twice I have 
taken the precaution to let her see what they 
were in m3" copy. But not often — not before 
I myself have been over them. For, say 


308 


GUILE 


what you please, her Quaker innocence is the 
loveliest attribute she will ever have — the 
worldliness I shall teach her is not a half com- 
pensation — and she shall not be spoiled — 
she shall always be a Quaker. Yes, sir — 
but I shall teach her just enough worldliness 
to make some one — not you — want her 
enough to — Oh, I haven’t mentioned you. 
I have been ashamed to do it. Therefore, 
she is assailable.” 

“ Huh ! She flew away the moment I came.” 

« Fear of your fascinations.” 

« Say, — Bell-Bell, was it on my account ? ” 

« It was. But not because of your fascina- 
tions. You are a rather rude diamond. It, 
was because we have a deep, dark, deadly 
secret from you.” 

She whispered it, in quite the conspirator 
fashion. 

Oh ! ” said Rem, stiffly. « Then I was de 
trop ? ” 

« Decidedly.” 

«A11 right. When I hear both of you 
pounding the piano, I won’t come in. She 
is learning to play.” 


GUILE 


309 


« I know perfectly well that the more you 
hear that piano in the future, the more you 
will come in.” 

«It is dull practising medicine and trying 
to get a reputation for steadiness. No one 
thinks it possible for me,” sighed Rem. 

“ Poor boy ! Nothing is so dreadful as 
reformation. And I will continue to help 
you. So shall she!” 

Rem brightened at once. 

“ Say, Bell-Bell, will she, though ? ” 

“ Aha ! Piquant, isn’t it ? — an affair with 
a little dove of a Quaker ! Remember that 
I can protect her. So you may come when- 
ever you hear the piano — just to help you to 
reform, and we will stop and put on our other 
clothes and entertain you gravely. Then 
some day, when you have proved that you 
are quite respectable, and are received at the 
bedsides of elderly ladies, we will confess 
all — what sort of crime we are up to — what 
sort of clothes we wear at our rehearsals — 
where and when we met. No, all that must 
wait until I have her safely married and 
out of your reach. For, I tell you frankly, 


310 


GUILE 


she says that she has one reason for liking 
you — you are tall.” 

“ Oh ! ” laughed Doctor Rem. “ But, say, I 
have never made love to a Quaker in my life. 
However, thanks ! I’m willing.” 

“ You are to be nothing but friends, do you 
hear ? I won’t have her mouth turned down 
instead of up at the corners ! ” 

Then, as a woman will, she forthwith 
tempted him to his destruction : 

“ She’s lovely, John ! The very loveliest 
human being I have ever known! Oh, she and 
I are old friends. And that is the only rea- 
son I permit you and she to become old 
friends. While you were busy at such nasty 
things as administering the two parts of a 
seidlitz powder so that ebullition would take 
place in the stomach of the poor person at 
your college dispensary, I was making love to 
the little Quaker — who would have preferred 
a man.” 

“ Of course,” said John Rem. 

<< Oh, not ‘ of course.’ But if you were not 
what you are, I would let you try to interest 
her. Nothing would please me better.” 


GUILE 


311 


« And, her — be hanged I ” cried the young 
physician, with enthusiasm. 

“ If you were not what you are — a brute.” 

« Yes — she’s a Quaker,” sighed John Rem, 
regretting for the first time his stormy life. 

Bell-Bell, as a woman will, veered the 
moment he had come to her point of view. 

“She is a woman, John, dear, and some- 
times a woman likes that in a man — if it is 
honest — as yours is. Now run away. I 
have been indiscreet. And married six years, 
too. Go ! ” 


IV 


THE FIDDLING OF FORTUNE 

Fortune fiddled favorably for the young 
physician. The next day it rained, and as he 
was leisurely getting down from the up- 
town train, a little exclamation arrested him, 
and, withal, two hands were planted in the 
middle of his back and clutched there wildly. 
Turning quickly John Rem looked again into 
the calyxlike bonnet. 

It was plain that even in the distress of her 
accident she had recognized him, as well as 
that she meant to be haughty — in a Quaker- 
ish way. She did decline his assistance. But 
it was really at such moments as this that 
what was finest in Rem came out. 

“You are injured,” he said, with gravity 
and strength, “and I must help you. I am 
a doctor.” 

Without more ado he carried her to the 
women’s room in the station, and with the 


312 


GUILE 


313 


help of the matron attended to her injury — 
which was slight. 

However, she was glad to lean on his arm 
as he led her to the street car which she in- 
sisted upon taking to Bell-BelPs, and while 
this had happened to him often before, he did 
not remember that he had had such interest in 
the proceeding. While she, when he had left 
her alone in the car, shook her head at herself 
accusingly, as she said : 

“Entirely too glad — entirely — to be car- 
ried ! ” 

And she turned and watched him stalk 
away. 

After a week of unrest, which he blamed 
upon the dulness of the practice of medicine, 
he remembered the roll of music which she had 
carried under her arm, and since it happened 
to be the same day of the week, to give 
nepenthe to his dulness he took the train 
down town which they had both taken that 
other day. She was there, and he fitted him- 
self into the seat at her side with the utmost 
assurance of a welcome. She bubbled with 
laughter. 


314 


GUILE 


« Suppose I had told thee it was taken ? ” 

« Impossible — for you,” he laughed. 

« Why ? ” 

“ You are a Quaker, and Quakers always 
tell the truth.” 

<< I do not,” she said. 

“It was really the only vacant seat in the car.” 

“ I am glad,” she laughed, and knew that 
there were many others, “ that thee does not.” 

“ Oh ! Glad ? ” But he was not sure. 
“ Then that is not the truth, I suppose ? ” 

“ If there had been another seat, thee would 
have taken it.” 

“ More prevarication ! ” he laughed. 

“ Wouldn’t thee ? ” 

“ No,” he said. “ If you knew what a 
villain I am, you would shun me — ” 

“ I have not been permitted to shun thee,” 
she interrupted. 

He persisted. 

“ I deliberately selected this day and this 
train to go down town because I knew that 
you would be on it. Now, then, what is my 
punishment ? ” 

“ I thank thee.” 


GUILE 


315 


« What ? ’’ 

Though it was all persiflage, he could not 
believe his ears. 

She went on gravely, now, in quite a 
Quakerish fashion : 

“I have desired to thank thee for thy as- 
sistance to me a week ago to-day. There is 
no telling where such injuries may end if they 
do not receive prompt attention at the begin- 
ning. On that day — I was so — so — full 
of pain — that I forgot to thank thee. Now, 
at last, I do. It was very thoughtless, and I 
have looked for thee every day with the pur- 
pose of thanking thee — I had even thought 
of writing thee a note.” 

Rem laughed with real embarrassment — a 
new emotion to him. 

“ I don’t believe that I am awake,” he said. 

She turned her head away, and the long 
bonnet hid her face from him. 

“The pain was so great that I forgot — ” 

In reaching for something — perhaps a hand- 
kerchief — Rem did not know where such a 
thing might be concealed in such a toilette — 
her hand came in contact with his, and his 


316 


GUILE 


pounced upon it instinctively. For a moment 
it struggled and then was regretfully released. 

“The pain was — so great — ” she was re- 
peating dreamily, and Rem could see a part of 
one cheek now. It bloomed with the very roses 
of June. “ The — pain — was — so — great — ” 

“There was no pain,” laughed brutal John 
Rem. “ And it couldn’t have hurt after the 
first minute.” 

She suddenly faced him, and he was alto- 
gether bewildered by the smiling happiness in 
her eyes. 

“Then I thank thee for that. It is much 
better to be thankful that there was no hurt 
— than that there was — does thee not think 
so?” 

He did. 

And he followed that wandering, fluttering, 
little hand until it again came under the 
dominion of his, and was again — a trifle 
more slowly now — withdrawn. 

“ My hand is not hurt,” she said. 

“ Heavens I I believe my heart is,” he 
laughed. 

“ This is my station,” she said, and ran out 
of the car. 


V 


A DANGEROUS TRAIN 

There were other meetings on that ten- 
thirty train, until Doctor Rem showed a very 
moody face at the house of his friend Jam, 
one day. 

“ Doesn’t she come to pound the piano any 
more?” asked he of Bell-Bell. 

“ Certainly.” 

« What ! ” 

“ Certainly.” 

« Then she must take another train ! ” 

“ Yes, the ten-twenty.” 

Just to avoid me ! ” 

“ I am perfectly amazed at the moral turpi- 
tude which you and she have at this moment 
disclosed. Sir, you have been meeting on the 
trains ! ” 

« One train, please,” grinned Rem, “ the ten- 
thirty.” 

“And you have both kept this a secret 
from me ! ” 


317 


318 


GUILE 


“Certainly,” said Rem, in his turn. “You 
were against me from the first. Do you sup- 
pose that I am going to put my plans into the 
hands of my enemies ? ” 

“ Plans ! ” shrieked Bell-Bell. “ Plans ! 
About her ! A Quaker ! Doctor Rem, I de- 
mand to know what your plans are ! ” 
“Well, I don’t exactly know myself. I 
didn’t quite mean to say plans. It slipped 
out. But I suppose if I were let alone I 
would do something — very — very foolish,” 
sighed the physician. 

At this point Bell-Bell broke into a long 
laugh. 

“ Oh, what babes I You are both under the 
impression that you have fooled me. Why, 
you old brute, any one could tell that you 
were seeing her if by no other way than your 
gentleness. She has been good for you. She 
will continue to be good for you. I have long 
ago seen that that is the solution. You 
must marry a Quaker. She will both steady 
you and make you respectable. And if you 
are hunting a Quaker — well, I shouldn’t 
wonder if you have found one. For the only 


GUILE 


319 


reason she gave for changing from the ten- 
thirty to the ten-twenty was that it was a 
dangerous train ! ” 

They laughed together. 

« And it is, poor girl ! Though, I confess, 
until you told me just now, I thought the 
danger was in the railroad.” 

“ Do you really think I was the danger ? ” 
asked Rem, happily. 

“John, dear,” said Bell-Bell, “you are a 
very foolish wooer.” 

“ Who said I was a wooer ? ” demanded 
the young physician. 

“ No one but me, unfortunately,” said Mrs. 
Jam. 

“ Not me, be hanged ! ” 

“No, not you. Therefore, go away and 
stop bothering me. I have better things to 
do — and better persons than you to see. 
After all, she has not saved the brute — only 
helped the wolf to put on lamb’s clothing. 
Run along ! ” 

“ If you make me angry,” threatened John 
Rem, “ I swear I will come down town on the 
ten-twenty to-morrow.” 


320 


GUILE 


« I will telephone the fact to her.” 

« Then I’ll take every train there is.” 

“How busy you will be on that day at 
least I Run away, boy.” , 

“ And if you make me very mad, I’ll marry 
her — just to spite you I ” 

« Poor girl ! Please get very mad. No, 
no, no ! I mean don’t. Go away ! You are 
a dog in the manger. Go.” 


VI 


SIMILIA SIMILIBUS CURANTUR 

Now Doctor Rem thought on these things 
and in his heart decided that they were true. 
But though convicted, he was nothing more. 
Until that night he got Bell-Bell’s wire to go 
down on the seven-thirty train. 

He was going to the Charity Masque in the 
costume of a Roundhead cavalier, and was as 
moody as his coat. Yet when he met her, all 
his moodiness fled. He held her hand in the 
real forgetfulness of inchoate possession. She 
drew it away angrily. 

“ Why — may I sit with you ? ” he begged 
in beautiful humility. 

“ Thee is alone ? ” 

It escaped out of her heart of hearts. 

Rem had the misfortune to laugh. 

“ Oh, that was the cause of your anger 1 ” 

“ That thee was alone — yes,” she countered 
with tremendous aplomb. « I am very sorry 
— for my anger.” 

Y 321 . 


322 


GUILE 


She made the room for him at her side he 
had begged for. 

“ Your anger was justified,” said Rem, 
happily. ‘‘No one has any business to be 
alone in a thing like this — and — therefore 

— I am going to tempt — you — ” 

“ I feel like a little brown sparrow among 
you all,” she said with discontent, for the car 
was crowded with the guests of the Masque. 

“ Do yoM suspect how many of these ladies 
would like to be this little brown sparrow ? ” 

“ Not one ! ” she cried fiercely. 

“ Rebellion ! ” laughed he. 

“ No ! Guile ! Wickedness I Shame ! ” she 
cried, hiding her face with her hands, and so 
making herself irresistible to the cavalier. 
“ But I cannot help it ! One of my ancestors 

— a very near one — belonged to the corps — 
and — do you know what I am wishing with 
all my heart ? ” 

“ Yes,” he laughed. 

“Thee does not. Of course not. But I 
will tell thee. I am wishing to go to this 
Masque ! There ! ” 

“ I know. It is foreordained.” 


GUILE 


323 


“You do not. And it is as bad to wish to 
be wicked as to be wicked.” 

“ Therefore it can be no worse for you to go.” 

“ I dance ! ” 

“ Whew ! ” 

“ Yes ! Like a little demon ! Don’t stare 
so. The people in the rear are looking. 
They don’t take me for a Quaker at all. 
They think I am costumed for the ball. I 
heard them saying so before you came.” 

“ Listen ! ” 

Even then a young prince on the other side 
was saying to one Starlight : 

“ It was an exquisite idea. And the whole 
costume is fine ! ” 

“It is fate ! ” tempted Rem. 

“Bell-Bell taught me. That is our secret. 
Thee must keep it with us. No, after all, 
Bell-Bell only helped a little. My feet were 
born to it. For, even when I was a child, to 
hear a waltz and sit perfectly still was impos- 
sible. Often my portion was dry bread for it. 
Yet I did not care. Does thee think one can 
inherit such wickedness ? ” 

“ Yes, thank God, it is a law of nature.” 


324 


GUILE 


“ Oh, if I could once dance, dance, dance, 
till I was dizzy — delirious — and wicked as 
sin itself — la la la — ” 

She hummed the music of a waltz — 

« — till I dropped in my tracks — ” she 
stopped to laugh a trifle piteously at the pretty 
bit of slang on her tongue — “I think I should 
be cured. Similia similibus curantur, thee 
knows.” 

She turned upon him where he gazed be- 
witched and cried with flushed cheeks and 
flashing, laughing, hungry eyes : 

“Thee is a physician. Is not that proper 
treatment ? ” 

“ It is,” he said. “ I advise it.” 

“ Ah, it is easy to — advise ! La la la ! The 
music is there ! The dancing ! I am to keep 
the children for Bell-Bell.” 

“No,” said John Rem. “I said I would 
tempt you — remember.” 

“Yes,” sighed Miss Estover. “The carriage 
is to meet me at the station. If I would, I 
could not. Ah, yes, it is fate.” 

“ As truly as anything that ever happened. 
You are in costume. I am. I am alone. You 


GUILE 


325 


are. Bell-Bell does not need you. There is 
a nurse. Last and least, there is a carriage 
made ready for us. But one thing remains, 
a mask for you — and that will take exactly 
the three minutes it requires to drive to 
Mousson’s.” 

She looked up at him with large, tempted 
eyes. 

«I am your physician. That is my pre- 
scription. Come ! ” 

« Oh, oh, oh I Get thee behind me, Satan ! ” 
she whispered. 

“Your disguise will be absolutely impene- 
trable ! This bonnet — a mask — ” 

“ Ah, doctor, dear,” she whispered wistfully 
back to him, “ will it certainly cure ? Will it 
not — might it not — aggravate the complaint ? 
Oh, thee does not know how a great orchestra 
gets into my little sinful soul ! ” 

« I am happy to be able to guarantee my 
treatment,” he said. 

“I wish — almost — that I had not met 
thee — my tall and splendid Satan. And will 
thee take me to the pinnacle of the temple — 
oh, the very pinnacle ! ” 


326 


GUILE 


<‘Yes,” he laughed. 

“And show me all the world of joy — then 
drop me down — down — down — into dis- 
grace and shame ? ” 

“ No ! by the earth and heaven, I will be 
your faithful pal in whatever may happen to 
us.” 

“ Hush ! hush ! Swear not at all. And 
if I should yield to thy tempting — will thee 
keep my secret always — always — forever, 
and ever ? ” 

One should have seen her eyes then. 

“ I should deserve shooting the moment — ” 

And he got both the hands and would not 
let them go. 

A moment she thought with drooping head 
while her hands remained in his. Then she 
said : 

“ I have yielded. Oh, I do not know 
whether it is more to thy tempting than to 
the tempting of the dance. I yield. Take 
me. For this evening I am thine. And 
whatever follies I may commit — oh, I shall 
not be responsible when the orchestra opens ! 
I shall be mad — abandoned — I feel it — 


GUILE 


327 


know it — and thee — ” she whispered with 
her head down — “ thee — must thee have thy 
arm about me — to dance ? ” 

Undoubtedly ! ” cried John Rem, with 
savage decision. 

« Oh — well — ’’ 

She sighed and woke and spoke more 
lightly : 

“Whatever follies I may commit, thee will 
not desert me — but will be my true knight 
— and, at the end, I shall require myself of 
thee less my infirmity — all this does thee 
swear ? ” 

He kissed the hilt of his sword. 

“ And afterward,” she went on, “ we are 
never to see or speak to each other — oh, I 
could not — could not look thee in the face 
again after such wickedness ! ” 

, “ Part ? Never ! ” he cried. 

“ Then I shall not. Thee makes me fear 
thee.” 

“Well — as you wish,” he said. 

And at the disappointment in his face a 
pretty light came to her own. She gave him 
her hand without his asking — for the first 


328 


GUILE 


time — and whispered — for the first time, 
also : 

“ Forgive me — John.” 

Then, shocked at herself, she explained : 

“The Quakers use the first name, always, 
thee knows.” 

“ I know,” said John Rem, kissing the little 
thing he held. 


VII 


THE INEFFABLE WHIEL 

And so, in time, they came into temptation 
worse than his — the surge of the orchestra. 
He felt her arm tremble in his and drew it 
very close. 

“ Yes ! ” she gasped. 

“ Are you frightened ? ” 

« I am gone mad ! ” 

It was not yet their time, and he drew her 
to a nook behind the curtain of jasmines 
where they were alone. 

“ Why did thee bring me here ? ” she asked. 

« I want to call you Mary Ann,” he said. 

“ Mad, too ! ” she laughed. 

« For the first time in my life, I believe,” he 
said, « I am embarrassed. I feel like he must 
feel who has gayly stolen something and found 
it immeasurably precious. But, yet — ” 

“Hush! Thee is mad, too. Be content. 
Soon we shall wake and find it all a dream. 


320 


330 


GUILE 


But, me ? Oh, John, John, John, let me dream 
this one dream and ever after sleep ! ” 

The orchestra, as if answering her wish, 
opened a waltz. She cried out and put her 
hands close on her ears. But even then she 
swayed to the rhythm, she closed her eyes, 
and slowly moved to the beating of the arch 
tempting of the violins, as if it were all part of 
some spell. John Rem put his arm about her 
waist. She raised her head a moment and 
looked with a gasp of ecstasy fair into his 
eyes, then gave him her hands. 

And, so, they danced — all the night. 
There were — yes — other times when they 
sat there behind the jasmines — but, for her, 
the vibration — the mad ecstasy never ceased. 

Then, at last, it was all over. The orches- 
tra had ceased. And they were once more 
behind the jasmine pillars, quite bereft of 
sense of other being than that which had been 
among the violins. 

The touch of the feather of his chapeau on 
her cheek was enough. She lifted up her face 
to him. And when he had raised the mask, 
there was a look such as he had never seen 


GUILE 


331 


even in his dreams of the fairest woman in 
the world. Damp tendrils of her hair flowed 
over her cheeks. Within its calyx of a lily 
was indeed the rose. And there it blushed 
and pulsed with the newest and the oldest 
emotions that have ever stirred a woman’s 
soul. Her lips begged kisses, hungry, insen- 
sible, mad, and were not denied. 

But then she shuddered at her deed. 

‘‘Take me home I ” she cried. “I am an 
outcast ! ” 

“Yes,” whispered Bell-Bell’s voice behind 
him, “ take her home — you brute ! ” 

In the carriage she shuddered away from 
him. 

“ No ! ” she cried. “ I am a monster I 
And you have let me be one I ” 

But when he had brought her in and was 
dejectedly taking his leave, the sudden pas- 
sion came again as it had come that moment 
when he kissed her. 

“Bell-Bell,” she whispered with large eyes 
and feverish lips, “ ought I to see him — to 
the door? Just one instant, perhaps? I did 
not thank him, I was unkind to him. In the 


332 


GUILE 


carriage I thought I hated him. He ought to 
have known better. He is of the world and 
knows. I did not. At the ball he said — he 
called me his — he — ’’ 

She whispered something in her very ear as 
if to keep the horrid knowledge from her own 
soul. 

Bell-Bell nodded gravely. 

« And I let him ! ” 

The happy young wife pushed her toward 
the door. 

« Yes — yes, dear, I know. We cannot 
help some things.” 

« But — I wished him.” 

« Is it possible ? ” 

« Bell-Bell, I tempted him 1 I made my lips 
so — so I I think I pulled him down ! ” 

“ Good heavens ! What wickedness ! ” 

“ Yes ! Now — does thee think I had better 
let him say good-by — forever and ever ? ” 

«Yes,” said Bell-Bell, with judicial airs, 
“ if you are sure it is forever and ever. Fear 
not. I will wait right here — inside the door. 
And if I hear a sound. I’ll be on him like a 
lion. But only a minute for the brute. 


GUILE 


333 


Mind ! ” She turned and bit her lips to 
keep them in order. 

«Yes — oh, yes! I will be sure to be only 
a minute. And thee shall stand — I have 
quite forgotten thee all the evening — such 
is the result of wickedness — thee shall stand 
right here — inside and — just here — and 
listen to every word I say — and thee shall 
call me when the minute is up — unless — I 
come — before — ” 

« Yes, yes. Hurry!” 

She went out swiftly, calling : 

John — is thee gone ? Wait — wait — 
one minute ! ” 

Bell-Bell went to bed. 


VIII 


THE LENGTH OF A MINUTE 

Well, there, in the vestibule, the tendrils 
were still on her face, and her eyes were 
greater and her voice softer than before ; 
and, somehow, without her will her hands 
went out to him, and without his will his arm 
disposed itself as it had done for dancing. 

“ Hush ! ” she whispered, putting her hand 
on his mouth to shut out the very words she 
hungered for, “ we have only a minute, and I 
wished to thank thee and to be forgiven by 
thee — and — and — to forgive thee — and to 
never, never meet again — as we agreed — 
so — so — oh, it was wrong — wrong ! But 
I am so wicked that I am not sorry. No, 
nor ever shall be ! But thee will never tell — 
and — and when thee is married — everybody 
has little secrets from his wife — or — hus- 
band — my mother has — why, do not tell thy 
— wife — ” 


334 


GUILE 


335 


But that word was too much for either 
of them to endure. 

He kissed her so savagely that she lay 
quiet in his arms. 

“Bell-Bell,” murmured the happy and di- 
shevelled Quaker lady to the sleepy lady of 
the house of Jam, “ Pm sorry. Forgive me. 
It was more than a minute — wasn’t it?” 

“ I think it was an hour,” snapped Bell- 
Bell, with pretended savagery. 

« Bib — but thee did not call,” half sobbed 
the happy one, “ and — and I — forgot ! ” 

“ God bless you both ! ” shouted the little 
wife, and in a moment had the dishevelled 
head with the damp tendrils of hair on her 
breast. “I am almost as happy as you.” 

“ Why ? ” questioned the Quaker lady. 

“ Why — didn’t he ask you to marry 
him ? ” 

“No. I don’t think he would wish to 
marry a Quaker — especially one as wicked 
as I am.” 

She could hear the fine teeth of Bell-Bell 
grind. 

“Isn’t it funny that one can be so very 


336 


GUILE 


wicked and so very happy at the same 
time ? ” 

«No. Go to sleep. I must think.” 

<tMi — must I tell thee all that happened 
in the vestibule ? ” 

“ No. I know.” 

«« Oh ! Thi — thee saw us ? ” 

“ I went straight to bed.” 

“Then, how, Bell-Bell, dear — ” 

“Look here, IVe been through all that. 
There are others besides John Rem. I don’t 
like him a bit to-night. And I shall tell him 
so very early in the morning.” 

“Not so tall and strong as he, I think, 
dear Bell-Bell.” 

“All right. Go to bed, you wicked little 
Quaker.” 

“ I can’t. I’ve got to talk. Bell-Bell, there 
couldn’t have been any one to hold thee that 
way — as if thee were never to get away 
again I And — and kiss thee. That is twice ! ” 
she wailed, with the air of a felon confessing 
his felonies. “ Does thee think me irrepara- 
bly wicked ? He does, I know, and will never 
look at me again.” 


GUILE 


337 


« Never fear. They like us to be wicked — 
a little — you know. Now, off to bed with 
you ! ” 

“ Truly ? ” 

“ Truly. To bed ! ” 


z 


IX 


AT TEN IN THE MORNING 

Until ten o’clock the next morning, at 
which hour he rose and confided it to his 
shaving-mirror, John Rem had enjoyed the 
happiest day of his life. But at precisely 
that hour he heard his name called out by a 
newsboy on the street. In a moment more 
not only his name, but his picture, was before 
him in the newspaper he had bought. And 
beside his own was the name and a fair 
sketch of Miss Estover, Quaker. 

In fact, it was all known, and, with mar- 
vellous guesses, where fact had failed, it had 
been printed. It was a piquant story, and so 
it had the place of honor on the first page and 
the blackest “heads.” The incident behind 
the jasmines when he had lifted her mask was 
given a hideous prominence, and the reporter 
confessed that it was this “ happy accident ” 
which disclosed identities to him, out for a 


338 


GUILE 


339 


story. The unusual circumstance of a dancing 
Quaker would have been a sufficient story. 
But in following the charming Quaker costume 
for character matter he had been presented 
with a sight of their unmasked faces, and the 
sound of a kiss. 

The final witticism of the jolly reporter was 
that the pretty Quaker would undoubtedly be 
called before the annual meeting, then but 
three days off, to be dealt with according to 
her deserts. What these might be he had 
gathered from several representative Quakers, 
who made them briefiy but sufficiently terrible. 

Doctor Rem did not shave that day. For 
after he had read the part of the paper which 
he and the Quaker lady occupied, he received 
a telegram from Mrs. Jam. 

« She is still here. She dare not go home. 
You have broken her heart. Come at once to 
consult with me. You are a brute ! ” 


X 


BY THE EIGHT OF A HUSBAND 

Now, when the Great Meeting came, every- 
thing happened precisely as the jolly reporter 
had foretold — and more. The trembling sin- 
ner was arraigned and put upon her defence. 

Then John Rem rose, tall, and, with a dig- 
nity no one thought he had, walked over and 
took his place at the sinner’s side, and begged 
that he might be permitted to speak for her. 
And, being asked by what right he claimed to 
make her defence, he answered sturdily : 

“ By the right of a husband,” and then went 
on in a strong and determined voice, ‘‘ and I 
hope, sir, that I may take the place — I — ” 

But at that moment John Rem, notwith- 
standing his experiences, was suddenly in the 
midst of the most dramatic situation he had 
ever known. 

Slowly every head of the three thousand in 
the hall drooped. He looked backward and 


340 


GUILE 


341 


forward, right and left, and saw not a face. 
Only bowed heads he saw — and silence. Not 
a sound. He heard the ticking of his watch. 
For the first time in his strenuous life some- 
thing like terror possessed him. His face 
actually went pale. 

‘‘ What is it ? ” he whispered to his wife. 

« They are praying,” she whispered back. 

“ For us ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Shall we go ? ” 

“ No. We must wait until they move.” 

And so they waited. Five, ten minutes. 
Yet it seemed an eternity. John Rem had 
never such need of endurance. The perspira- 
tion streamed down his face. The little hand 
which crept into his grew moist. His watch 
continued to deafen him. 

Then, in the front row, a woman’s skirt 
rustled. Almost he had cried out, “Thank 
God ! ” 

Beyond this one another raised her head. 
Then a little rustle passed over the vast room. 
No more. John Rem knew now that, had he 
looked, every mild eye would be upon him, 


342 


GUILE 


and not with animadversion. In the prayer 
they had placed him — her — the whole mat- 
ter before God. 

The moderator, facing them, rose and said 
quietly : 

“ John Rem, thou and thy wife, go in peace. 
And the blessing of the God of our fathers go 
with ye. If ye have sinned, repent.” 

And, shamed and trembling, John Rem got 
himself and his bride out of that place. 

On the face of the father of this sudden 
bride there was a deeper gloom than it bore 
that day we first saw it in this story. On the 
face of the gentle proselyte at his side, it 
must be confessed, there was a fleeting, remi- 
niscent smile. 

“ There are some things we cannot help, 
thee knows, John,” she was saying, “ and it is 
our duty to bear these crosses with fortitude.” 
The reminiscent smile grew broader. “ Thee 
was exactly right in what thee said about 
guile. But thee was also right in what thee 
said about goodness being as communicable as 
guile. This young man has not the highest 
kind of a reputation for gentleness. But all 


GUILE 


343 


agree that he is honest. It displeases me very 
much ” — and the smile was almost a laugh 
now — “ that they should make me a mother- 
in-law, at my age, without my consent. But 
if I can forgive that, thee can forgive — hem 
— whatever ails thee. John, my dear hus- 
band, let us keep them with us and try that 
theory of thine which was so successful in 
my case. Let us see whether we cannot 
communicate our goodness to them — as 
they have communicated their guile to each 
other.” 

John Estover sprang upon his wife and 
embraced her so strongly and so suddenly that 
she said happily : 

“ Why, John, it is just as if thee was 
courting again ! ” 

« Thee is right, Ann ! Thee is a better 
Quaker than I am. Thee adheres to the pre- 
cepts and does not forget them when they are 
of use. There is much hope in what thee 
says.” 

“And — and — John — just think of our 
lovely Marian — Mary Ann — leaving us ! It 
is not to be thought of, is it ? I know thee 


344 


GUILE 


feels as strongly about that as I do. And that 
poor, misguided young man — ” 

For she had seen them coming, with fearful 
faces, for their forgiveness, and he had not. 

They were almost at the door now. 

“ Is it all agreed, John ? ” she cried. 

“Yes,” said John, “it is all agreed. Thee 
is a better Quaker than I am.” 

And that is why they received a welcome 
which was more hard to bear than the one they 
expected. 

“ Now if thee were only one of us,” sighed 
John Estover to John Rem, as he held his two 
hands, and liked him at once for a certain big 
way he had with him. 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked the younger 
man. “ I hope that having forgiven us, you 
will not stop halfway.” 

“ Ah, yes, that. Look to Ann for that ! 
But if thee was a Friend, we might reclaim 
thee — ” 

“ I am a Friend,” shouted John Rem, tre- 
mendously happy to remember in time what 
he had not remembered much for years. 

“ What ! ” 


GUILE 


345 


It came in three voices — and six hands were 
laid with various expressions of tragedy upon 
him. 

“Not very orthodox,” confessed honest John 
Rem, “ perhaps a confirmed backslider. But I 
claim my place in the church of my fathers, 
and I mean to keep it better in the future 
than in the past — with — with — the help of 
my — wi — wife ! — ” he got it out with a 
gulp — “ and you. I am a Friend, sir. My 
father and my mother were, God bless them ! 
I tried to tell it at the meeting. But they 
began to pray for us.” 

“My dear son John — ” said John Estover 
to John Rem. 

Now, do you observe how right Mrs. Est- 
over was in her views and practices concerning 
the “ management ” of husbands and fathers, 
and churches, and other things ? 













THE GAME 

A TRANSCRIPT FROM REAL LIFE 
By JACK LONDON 

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/ 


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SEP 18 1905 


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